


this void of things unreal

by malkinisms (hannibalisms)



Category: Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, M/M, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalisms/pseuds/malkinisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is well known that there are two great powers in the Yggdrasil Galaxy: the Æsir of Ásgarðr and the Jötnar of Jötunheimr.  It is also well known that the two factions rather regard the other as a waste of space and time, and only the most severe of threats could even possibly bring them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. home and away

**Author's Note:**

> Have no fear, I am not abandoning SYSTMS, but just something to keep me busy in between chapters. I can't write the same thing all the time.
> 
> This was inspired in part by a prompt by [sam on tumblr](http://jotun-turtle.tumblr.com/) that I have taken and sat on for a while, and now I am running with it.
> 
> This will NOT have a set update schedule. Updates will be sporadic.
> 
> The title comes from ["Roll Away Your Stone"](http://youtu.be/hZzRd3q9pEM) by Mumford & Sons.

It is well known that there are two great powers in the Yggdrasil Galaxy: the Æsir of Ásgarðr and the Jötnar of Jötunheimr.  It is also well known that the two factions rather regard the other as a waste of space and time, and only the most severe of threats could even possibly bring them together.

They are opposites in all things, and all others in the galaxy fall between them and around them, trying to be neutral in a universe where it very much matters whose ideology you value more. 

The Menn of Miðgarðr tend to stay out of the fights, minding their own business of farming and mining, a hard-working species that forms the backbone of the economy.  They long ago signed a treaty with all planets that they would never take sides in a conflict, so long as they were left to their planet and their own devices.

The Vanir of Vanaheimr, though long ago conquered by the Æsir, are still loyal to them, no matter the atrocities of the war that was fought.  The Álfar, like the Menn, stay neutral but the whole of Yggdrasil knows that Álfheimr will support the Æsir when pressed.  Those that live on Svartálfaheimr are migrants from Álfheimr, so their loyalty, too, remains.

But the Jötnar have developed their own allegiances that equal that which the Æsir have laid down.  The Hrímthurs of Niflheimr and the Eldjötnar of Múspellsheimr have no choice but to align with Jötunheimr; they are descended, distantly, from the same ruling family and thus cannot but stay loyal.  The Náir of Hęl have always hated the Æsir, for numerous reasons; why, then, would they find power elsewhere?

The Ratatoskr flies between the planets, delivering cargo, mail, people, war declarations, peace declarations, prisoners of war: they are the true neutrals in the system, everywhere at once, trying to keep things running.

For eons, the galaxy has lived in relative peace – a few wars and skirmishes here and there, but then again, things are never perfect.  Other species come and go, new places discovered, new alliances made and lost.

There are hints that begin to arrive – hints that tell the Yggdrasil Galaxy that there is something coming, something that has come from beyond Ginnungagap, something that that doesn’t care about alliances or hatred or anything, really.  They will take what they wish, intergalaxy strife or not.

It is this whisper of coming catastrophe that changes things.

Odin Alföðr reaches out first, sending an emissary to Jötunheimr to negotiate a peace treaty (or an armistice, depending on the mood of the Jötnar at the time).  What surprises the Allfather is that the youngest son of Fárbauti King, Helblindi, comes with the next Ratatoskr ship, bringing with him an invitation to the Mjødhall on Jötunheimr.  Odin, though wary, accepts the offer because what else could it be?  Sending a son is a sign of good faith and has always been as such, and to see it as anything else – well, even Odin cannot do that to his enemy.

So he accepts, and the Allfather makes the trip from Ásgarðr to Jötunheimr but, of course, he cannot arrive alone.  He brings most of the court; after all, if this is to be a peace conference, Fárbauti King will have his councilors in attendance, so why not the Allfathers’?  The crowning glory is that he can bring his son with him, finally, who has proven himself in battle and wields the hammer Mjölnir.  Thor Odinson is the apple of his father’s eye.

Thor, however, is not thrilled about this escapade into the airspace above Jötunheimr.  He has never heard anything positive about the Jötnar and has never actually met a Jötunn; the tales make them monsters, savages, beings not fit to have an entire planet and claim the name of king of _anything_.  The trip seems to be folly.

Thor sees this as happening: the two groups will meet, someone will say something to offend the other, a fight will break out, and they will be right back where they started but with some mysterious force bearing down on them, trying to tear their galaxy to shreds.  It is not, in Thor’s mind, a good time.

He’d rather be back home, chasing harts around the forest and teasing Sif and trying to figure out how soon his mother is going to try to make him figure out who, exactly, it is that he wants to marry.  That is also not something that is a good time for him – he’s not even sure that he _wants_ to get married.  Kings don’t have to be married.  That’s not written anywhere.  At least, not where Thor’s been looking.

As they hover above the planet, Thor has never seen anything so blue, so cold; Ásgarðr has many seasons, all of them unique, and to live on a planet where it is just cold, just ice and snow, makes Thor shiver with dislike.  It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy winter, no, but never-ending winter?  He loves the sun and the trees and the forest, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything.

He is a summer child, and the Jötnar are the winter children; Thor doesn’t see any way that this will go according to Odin’s plans.


	2. blue and gold

“You will carry yourself as a prince _should_ , son, not a lesser person.”

“What does it _matter_ , father?  The Jötnar care not for us and we care not for them; this is all farce,” Thor grumbles, tossing the last of his formal armor on the bed while he wrestles with his gauntlets.

“It matters because these meetings could prove to be the final matter to bind our two families together in mutual trust and, perhaps, in time it will grow to be an alliance that the universe has never before seen.”  With the force that Odin is using to glare at him, Thor is pleased that his father only has one eye.  Both glaring at him would be far too much, far too intimidating.

“What your father means, Thor, is that if we can come to accord not only will we be able to fight the threat on our borders, but perhaps all the nastiest will be behind us,” Frigga interjects, laying a hand on Odin’s shoulder.  “We would be pleased if you could try to understand the situation that has been created.”

“I understand, mother.  I just don’t understand why they could not come to Ásgarðr and we had to fly all the way here.  Should the meeting not be in the house that has begun the proceedings?”

Frigga smiles slightly.  “True, my son, but by coming here we have made a concession.  They will have to make one later to make up for our flight here. Think like a king, Thor: that is what you must do to understand the game that we are playing.”

Thor scoffs and buckles his other gauntlet on, making sure that they’re properly positioned.  “As you say, mother.  I will endeavor to not embarrass our world and people.”

“Good,” Odin grunts, “because should you do so I may actually consider make your brother my heir, and the gods know what will happen if I must do that.”

Odin sweeps out of Thor’s room and Frigga trails behind, but not before stretching up to press a kiss to Thor’s forehead.

He secures the rest of his armor and sweeps his cape on, the red shining against the deep blue glass that the Mjødhall is created out of; Thor had thought the glass transparent but through some magic it is opaque from either side.  It is a marvel, though Thor would admit it to no one unless pressed.

He leaves the room and finds his parents awaiting him outside the door, and together they make their way to the antechamber in front of the main hall of the Mjødhall.  A page – not one of the Jötnar, Thor is surprised to note – swings open the door and announces their arrival.

“Presenting High King Odin Alföðr of Ásgarðr and his Queen Consort Frigga Fjörgynsmær, and the Prince of the Blood, Thor Odinson.”

They approach the Ice Throne and the only thing that Thor can process in his head is _large_.  The Jötnar are very tall – at least a man and a half, if not more – and they all have horns, different for each person – for each Jötunn.

“All Hail Fárbauti King and Nál Queen of Jötunheimr, Býleistr the Prince of the Blood, Helblindi Prince, and Loki Prince.”  The royal family of Jötunheimr rises as they are announced and for a moment, Thor is confused – is Helblindi not the youngest of the group? – but then he spots the difference: Loki is _small_ in comparison to the rest of his blood.  He cannot be any taller than Thor.

Helblindi leans down and whispers something in Loki’s ear, and it makes Loki smirk as he passes his eyes over all of them, pausing for a moment on Thor before his nose notches the air and his gaze returns elsewhere.

Thor, however, cannot take his eyes off the young Jötunn prince.  He is different than the rest of his family and Thor wonders – for a brief moment – if he is indeed all Jötunn and not something else as well, but he has no time to entertain the thought because he is being escorted to a table with the other princes whilst his parents are escorted to the high table.

He is seated next to between Býleistr and Helblindi with Loki taking the end of the table, and it is clear who is preferred in the family.  It is not, Thor decides, his place to ask questions or start conversations so he waits for one of the others to begin, and he does not have long to wait.

“Greetings, Thor Prince of the Blood.  What do you think of the Mjødhall?” Helblindi asks, leaning down so as to be closer to Thor.  He’s at least 8 feet tall.  He looked far larger whilst in Ásgarðr, but Thor supposes that’s because their palace is not built to accommodate the Jötnar.

“It is quite … blue.  How was it built, all the glass?  There are no seams.”

“Magic, and much of it.  As was your palace, was it not?  The Goudhall,” Býleistr answers.  “Built long ago by our forefathers, and made larger with each generation.  All of us have played a part in creating our home.”

“Have you all magic, then?”

“Do you not?” Helblindi asks in turn, picking apart a roast hen with more delicacy than seems possible.

“My mother does, and her handmaidens.  Very few Æsir have natural magic,” Thor answers, then gestures to Mjölnir.  “Mjölnir has all the magic that I require.”

“All Jötnar have magic, in varying amounts.  Our brother has the most, making up for areas that he is otherwise lacking in,” Býleistr tells him, nodding at Loki at the end of the table.  “Isn’t that true, brother of mine?”

“Keep your conversation free of me,” Loki snaps, turning only for a moment to glare at his brother.  “I care not what you say so long as it does not concern me.”

“So testy,” Býleistr murmurs, bending his head down to Thor’s level.  “Were I you, I would keep far clear from Loki.  He has no love for the Æsir – well, even less than most of us.  Let us just say that there were many fights had about this occasion.”

Thor doesn’t answer, just nods and turns to his plate.  They do not converse with him for the rest of the dinner, which leaves Thor free to observe the brothers.

Býleistr is the eldest, that much is clear based on his title alone.  He’s also the tallest of the three, though what height he cannot gauge while he sits.  He’s the same blue that the skies are when a storm rolls through, a grey-blue.  His horns curve forward from his head, a few gold bangles drilled through them in a few places.  Thick gold bands rest around his biceps and wrists but other from those few trinkets, he is unadorned.

Helblindi is smaller than Býleistr, though not by much, and is similarly adorned though he also has a few studded gems embedded in his horns which are gentle nubs protruding from his forehead.  His skin is a darker blue, almost purple in certain lights.  Thor supposes it’s just as with other species; there is variation in all of them no matter what.

Loki is the most intriguing, and he is simply _breathtaking_ to Thor.  Thor is not one to care much about gender – nor is his father, though his mother is bent on him marrying a fair maiden as soon as he can – but Loki is so wholly male but _not_ at the same time in his dress that it intrigues Thor. 

His skin is the same color of the sea, a deep blue that shines almost green under the lights.  His hair – which is strange, Thor notes, of all the brothers he is the only one to keep his hair long, where the others have theirs closely-cropped – tangles in many braids and is thrown over one shoulder, woven with gold strands and studded with so many gems that Thor could not possibly name them all.  His horns curve back from his head, almost like the goats that Thor tends to in the royal stables (not that he would ever come to Loki with the comparison).  They, too, are wrapped with gold strands that dangle gems and pearls.  He _gleams_ in the light.  He doesn’t have the same gold bands, no, but many delicately woven bangles that clink and chime as he moves.  Thor thinks they probably even line his ankles, because when his arms are not moving he still chimes in the night.

Where his brothers wear plain white robes slung over their shoulders, pinned with the same blue glass that the Mjødhall is made of, Loki wears a dapped white robe that shifts color as he moves.  He has pinned it with a clasp made of gold with inlaid blue glass, and the effect is so enchanting that Thor finds himself thinking that he is not going to follow the advice that Býleistr gave to him.

Even his eyes are different than the rest of the family, a deeper, more brilliant red.  He is simply more brilliant than all of his kin, and Thor wants to _know_ him.

As the dinner ends and plans are made for a formal meeting tomorrow, Thor watches the brothers leave.  Býleistr leaves first, heedless of the others.  Helblindi waits to wish Thor a good night and then accompanies Loki out of the hall.  He bends his head to speak to Loki and Loki smirks again as Helblindi rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment.  As Loki tosses a shawl over his shoulders he and Thor make eye contact again and, mindless of his actions, Thor sketches a slight bow his way.

Loki blushes a brilliant blue – almost purple, even – and turns quickly to walk with his brother, two strides to each of Helblindi’s.

 _Well_ , Thor thinks, _that’s promising._


	3. parchment and red

Thor is not invited to the preliminary meeting the next morning, so he decides to go exploring the Mjødhall and the surrounding area.  He asks the porter for his room if that would acceptable and he shrugs before remembering his place and stammering out that as long as he did not go where there were locked doors, there should be no problem.

He sets out to find the library – even though Thor is overly fond of fighting, he does so love to learn about things – and meets a guard on the way, and sets the same question to him just to make sure that he will not run afoul of their hosts.

The guard raises an eyebrow and tells him that the Mjødhall is their home for the duration of their stay.  If the Prince has more questions he should address them to the Head of House, in the front of the servant’s wing.

Thor decides to not walk all the way across the Mjødhall – far too long of a walk when he’s already at the library – and opens the door.  It smells of parchment and leather, with hints of ink and dust that almost make him sneeze when he takes a deep breath.

It’s a good smell, a familiar smell in this strange place.

He wanders for a moment, bowing at the librarian that looks up from her book and then back down, pleased that he’s not going to cause a ruckus, and finds himself in the section on weapons and armor.  There are books here that he has never dreamed of finding, like _Glyrfinnig’s Treatise on that Armour, or That Which is Imbued with Magics Arcane_.  He takes it from the shelf, cradling it in his arms, before he sits at the nearest table and sets it on the book rest so as to not damage the spine.

He cannot catalogue the time that he takes to read all of it, to try and keep it all in his head so that he will not forget all that is written there.  Helblindi comes past once, wishing him a good morrow before he leaves Thor to the book, sensing his need for quiet.

The sun is slanting to the evening before he looks up to a voice.

“What are you doing here?”

Thor looks up from the last chapter – _How the Metals and Magics Can Intertwine_ – blinking away the strain to find Loki standing before him, arms crossed over his chest and face pinched.

“I apologize.  Should I not be?  The guard gave no indication that I was not allowed.”

Loki doesn’t answer, but his face pinches a little tighter and he glances around like the books will jump from their shelves and attack him.  “What are you doing?”

“Reading.  I found this book –” Thor begins, but Loki interrupts him with a raised hand.

“Let me rephrase myself: _why_ are you here?  What cause do _you_ have to read?”

Thor is offended and it probably shows on his face, the way that Loki takes a step back towards the shelf, his bangles and jewels clinking softly.

“Why can I not read here?  You have books that I have only heard tell of, and wish to use my time here as a way to study rather than sit at my father’s feet while he thinks of ways to protect our world.  I am no _pet_ , I do not sit on command, and neither shall I allow you to – to attempt to make me leave a place where I have found _peace and quiet._ ”

Thor sits back down in the chair heavily, just to make his point, and begins reading again, though he can no longer concentrate on the words with Loki so close to him.

The other prince moves away for a moment, and Thor looks to the side, just barely, to watch him slip by.  His robe is a red so deep it is almost black, with silver embroidery running through the hems.  He edges around a corner and Thor sighs, just a little, because he does feel bad for speaking to Loki like that – he had really done nothing to garner Thor’s ire, other than being there.

He is once again caught up in the book – he had no idea that there were so many different ways to put magic into metal – when a book is set net to him, gently.  He looks up and Loki’s standing there, blushing a little.

“If you’re interested in forging magic to metal, Glyrfinnig was just an amateur at his craft.  You’ll want Æđelstan’s compendium if you’re interested in practice and not just theory.”

This close, Loki has freckles, tiny purple spots that cross his nose and cheeks.  Thor wants to count them.

“I am afraid that theory is all that I can accomplish,” he manages to get out without sounding like a fool.

Loki’s brow creases in confusion.  He pushes his hair over his shoulder – it goes past his waist, Thor notices – and sits next to Thor at the table.  “Have you not worked with magic and metal before?  You have Mjölnir – how did you create it?”

Loki reaches out to where Thor has set the hammer on the table and brushes his fingers over the uru, and the magic in Mjölnir and Loki’s fingers sparks, blue and purple flitting from the hammer to the ceiling and into the glass.  No one has ever touched Mjölnir before, not like that, not without Thor’s permission; Loki is _brave_ , but then, he does not know what the hammer truly is.

“I did not create it.  I won it.  It was my right, as Prince of the Blood, but I had to prove my worth.”  He turns Mjölnir a bit, and reads off the inscription: _Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._

“I have no magic.  Not many Æsir do – my mother and her maidens are the exception.  But I wish that I did, for then I could make my own weapons.  Now, I must depend on others.”

Loki runs his fingers over the uru again, over the engraving like he can learn the secrets behind its creation.  Thor wishes that he would, because he does not know; he asked his father once, and Odin did not have an answer for him.

From this angle, looking at Loki’s profile, Thor can learn new things about the man.  He has a scar on his left eyebrow.  His eyelashes are long.  He has a gold hoop running through his nose, through the septum.  His ears are not pointed, as his brothers’ are, but round and smooth, with many golden and jeweled studs piercing them.  He has a shock of white hair at the nape of his neck, woven in the braid so as to hide it, but Thor can see it from this angle.

Loki tilts his head a little, to look at Thor sideways.  “If you wished it, I could help you learn this craft.  I cannot say that you would be successful, but you may.”

Thor rolls the idea around in his head, tasting it like he would a new food.  “Why do you offer?”

Loki stands and sets the book he got out in front of Thor.  His fingers trail along the table, long and slender, and Thor watches him as he walks away.  Before he rounds the corner, Loki looks back over his shoulder and answers, “Because I am lacking in things to do that will especially aggravate my brother.  Also, you’re interested in magic.  Not many Æsir are.”

Loki smiles, just a little crook of his lips, and slips around the corner.  The edge of his robe trails behind him, and Thor can hear it trailing along the ground before the door to the library opens.

Well then.  Thor picks up the books and brings them to the librarian, asking if he may take them to his room to write notes on parchment about them.  She’s so pleased that he’s interested in the books that she gives him a sheaf of paper, a quill, and a pot of ink.

When he gets back to his room, there’s a note on his desk.  It doesn’t say much, just where to meet Loki tomorrow if Thor does actually wish to learn about smelting and magic.

It’s more exciting to Thor than should possibly be allowed.


	4. green and bright

Thor is not surprised when the meeting the next day dissolves into yelling between the two parties; not the royalty, of course, but those that serve them.  There is still anger roiling and the two kings sit and watch the shouting, until Farbauti King raises a hand.

“We are not here to yell and scream about what needs to be done.  You are nobles, and you are in the presence of two kings who you shame.  We have called you here for a higher purpose and you shame us with your bickering.  Use the rest of the day to think on your actions before we resume this meeting tomorrow.  You had best comport yourselves in a manner more befitting nobles on the morrow.”

He stands before waiting for anyone to answer and sweeps out of the main hall, his sons following him.  Loki glances at Thor for a moment and there’s a brief moment of connection before they all follow him.

Thor does not lean over and whisper to his father, “I told you so,” but he does smirk at him, which is enough to make Odin roll his eyes and follow Farbauti out.

Thor trails after him and Frigga takes his arm, slowing him down momentarily.

“You have been behaving, my son.  It worries me.”

Thor chuckles.  “I am simply listening to your advice, mother.  You suggested that I comport myself properly and I am attempting to do so.  Should I not?”

Frigga smiles and pats him on the arm.  “By all means, continue.  Just remember to not overdo it, lest your father become suspicious of your motives.”

She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, then catches up with his father.

Thor walks aimlessly, bowing his head to the people around him when courtesy dictates but he just walks, finding his way around, until he comes to a balcony.  He wraps his furs around himself more – the Mjødhall itself is quite warm, perfect, but the outside climes are not to his liking.  Windy and cold, snow falls perpetually, drifting to form huge snow banks around the Mjødhall and the outlying cities.

His breath leaves puffs of condensation hanging in the air, and he just stands and watches the twin moons for a time.  They are beautiful, reflecting off the blue seas and the white snow.  They’re closer than the moon back home, but seem even more beautiful.

He ducks back through the doorway and the warmth is welcome.  He remembers the note that Loki left him – meet him in the Gler Garður at half past midday – and asks a passing maid where they are, and she points him in the right direction, blushing and stammering before she bows and ducks away.

He wanders around for a bit more – he has half of an hour before he has to meet Loki, and he might as well take more time to walk and explore – but the journey brings him to the Gler Garður early, and he might as well go in.

They garden really does look like glass, filled with delicate plant life that doesn’t seem to touch the planet anywhere else.  It must have been built as a green sanctuary, a place to come when the cold wastes get too oppressive.  It feels like Ásgarðr would, warm and sunny and with a delicate breeze.  It makes Thor wonder just how much sorcerery went into making this fantastic place, this haven of growth.

He follows the path and then the garden opens up into a huge clearing – and Thor knows there is magic in this, for the room is not this big on the outside, there is no possible way that this place would fit in this section of the Mjødhall.

He cannot help but marvel at it for a moment, craning his head back to see the ceiling and it does look just as the sky would, with clouds and small birds, and it is so pleasant a place that Thor feels a cad for thinking on why this place is in the heart of a cold world.

“The Gler Garður is beautiful, is it not?”

Loki is next to him, one hand resting on the swell of Thor’s bicep, a gentle touch.  Thor was so interested in the garden that he did not even hear Loki’s approach.

“How did it come to be?”

Loki circles in front of him, beckoning him onwards with a wave of his hand.  Thor follows obediently, not only listening to him speak but also focusing on the gentle curves of his back, bared today in a strange, scoop-back robe.  It trails on the ground, rustling the grass, and from each shoulder pleat delicate golden chains cross his back.

Thor can see his clan lines clearly – scars that make paths along his body, given to him when he became a man (though Thor does not know how long ago that was for Loki).  They’re only a few shades darker than his skin, raised slightly; Thor finds himself wondering if they hurt, or, if like so much on Jötunheimr, they were done painlessly and with magic.  They’re an intricate scrollwork and Thor wonders, if he ever got the chance, if he would find them all across Loki’s skin.

“It was created a very long time ago, with the seedlings from a plant from Ásgarðr – and this we readily admit – but from there, our magic has fed it and made it bloom, created it and helped it to grow.  Without us, without our magic, it would falter and die.  As long as we exist, the plants will live.”

Loki stops in front of a shaded table under a large tree where he has books set out, and he’s half turned to face Thor when Thor reaches out and traces the curve of one of the scars before he can even process what it is that he is doing.

Loki doesn’t say anything until Thor pulls away as though Loki has burned him; it is shame that colors his face, because he has touched another without their permission, and Thor swore that he would never do that.

“I apologize.  I should not – I should not have done that.  I will beg your pardon.  Perhaps another day.”

He turns to go, to return to his room and wallow in the shame that he has heaped upon himself – surely Loki will go to his father, who will call off the meetings and _then_ where will they be – but what Loki says is not what he expected to hear.

“I didn’t mind, if that is what concerns you.”

Thor turns and Loki’s seated atop the table, legs crossed at the knees and feet upon the bench.

“It did not offend me.  You don’t have them, do you?  You would be curious.  Though I would have appreciated if you had asked first, I respect that you wanted to know what they were.”

Loki crooks a finger at him and Thor obeys, like he’s attached to a string from Loki’s finger.  Loki holds out an arm and traces the lines with his own fingers, sharp nails digging in slightly.  Thor follows with his fingers, blunt and wide and calloused from learning how to fight.

“My brothers and I all have the same ones, because we have the same parentage.  Were my father-king to take another wife and have more offspring, they would have similar but different clan lines.  They tell of our oldest ancestors, our triumphs, our losses, our history.”

Loki smiles, the first real smile that Thor has seen.  It makes his face younger, softer; it makes him even more beautiful that Thor thought he could be.  “No matter anything else, it is this that marks me as part of the Jötnar.  One without their lines is without their family.”

“We have nothing like this.”

“No?” Loki looks up now, jewelry twinkling in the false sun.

“We make our families our own; we remember but moving forward.  We choose our own sigils and designs for our armors.  That is how it has always been.”

Thor realizes how close they are standing to each other when Loki reaches out and wraps a hand around the handle of Mjölnir and gives it a sharp tug.  “Does this not tie you back to your history?  Or have you been the only Thor to wield it?”

The hammer sings in Thor’s nerves for a moment from the simple touch of another, and it makes Thor stutter out, “I know not who wielded her before I won her.”

“Hmm,” Loki says, pulling away to slip off the table and around Thor to the books on the other side.  Thor cannot read the look that Loki is giving him.  “Put her on the table, then, and let me look at her.  We shall start your learning with what you already know, what you have held dear to you.”


	5. silver and broken

Thor doesn’t know what to make of Loki.  He’s curiously intense about things, which Thor doesn’t expect at all.  When he wants to know something he is dogged about it; he does not rest until the question is answered to his standards.

He takes the same actions with Mjölnir that Thor thinks he would take with a troublesome book or a hard problem.  Though he can’t lift or move the hammer, he gleans more from simply looking at it than Thor has gotten out of his own parents.

From the handle and the way the leather is wrapped, Loki thinks that it is of Dvergr origin, though it is a curious creation; rather than being one- or two-handed, it is a hand-and-a-half hammer, though Thor wields it with one. The uru is yet unknown to him, though he traces it with his fingers from top to bottom and asks Thor questions that he cannot answer.

At one point, Loki licks one of his fingers and then smears it along some of the runes, watching as they flair brightly for a moment.  Thor is transfixed by that minute glimpse of a pink tongue and it makes him shift uncomfortably on the bench.  Loki doesn’t do it again, just murmurs something about reactions that Thor can’t catch and probably wouldn’t understand anyway.

Eventually Loki moves on from examining the hammer and onto practical application – what it means to work with metal, what metals are best to enchant, how the same metal will take to different magics.

Loki gives him another book – his own, this time, in a spidery uphill-backhand – that Thor reads that night after dinner about how to put runes into silver, because it’s soft and malleable and easy to charge with magic and not have to recharge it after time passes.

He skips out on the next day’s meeting simply because it’s a meeting about crops and farming and Thor can’t be bothered to care about that, so he decides to explore the subterranean paths under the Mjødhall; at one point they were catacombs, Loki tells him, but now they’re just paths that spiral under and around and back up.

He walks for hours under the Mjødhall, rune-light bobbing in front of him.  Loki gifted him the bauble after seeing if it would respond to Thor and since it did, Loki declared that not only would he continue to teach Thor magic but that the rune-light was now his.  He stops at one point to eat the lunch that he got from the kitchens – some kind of fowl made into a sandwich, steamed vegetables, and a slice of pie – and then continues on until the path starts upward and he exits back into the Mjødhall.

It’s part of the building that he has never been in before, and it’s silent and eerie.  The blue glass here is worn and faded, scratched in places unlike the glass of the palace proper.  Thor gets the feeling that he is not to be here, but comes across no one as he explores.  He goes room to room – none of them have doors – and the furniture here is worn and dusty.

He wanders for ages, just looking, interested in what would make this part of the palace so desolate; was it abandoned when the Mjødhall was made bigger?  Was this part of the palace built by a loved one, and then closed off when they passed away?

It’s a transfixing mystery.

As he walks down a hallway and around a corner, he almost runs into someone – a lone jötunn that he has not seen before.

She bows lowly, muttering pardons, and he tells her, “Fear not, my lady; I should not have been walking so close to the wall.  Are you well?”

She squints up at him – she’s small and still round with baby fat, so Thor ages her as a child though he is not sure – and replies, “You’re the Æsir prince, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my lady.  To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“I’m Fenja.  I work in the kitchen.  There’s a shortcut back to my home from the Paths.  Are you going to marry one of the princes?  That’s what my sister Menja says.  My mother does, too.  My sister left after I did but she should be coming.”

She’s young, that’s for sure; curious too, and Thor finds her charming.

“If my father desires me to marry a prince, I shall do so.  But don’t believe all the gossip you hear,” he tells her, and taps her on the nose as he does when he admonishes his cousins.

She laughs and ducks under his arm, walking backwards towards the tunnel entrance that he left before.  “My friends will be jealous that I met the prince!  They won’t believe me.”

He bows at her with a flourish.  “If they do not believe you, my Lady Fenja, I will meet them to prove it.”

She laughs again and ducks around a corner.

The Jötnar are a strange people; some are willing to speak with you quickly, while others would prefer to see your head on a pike.  It’s just like other people, Thor thinks, while walking back into a better kept part of the Mjødhall.

He contemplates it all the way back to the Gler Garður where he meets Loki outside the doors.

Loki scoffs at him.  “You’re covered in dust.”

He flicks his fingers and it _tingles_ , and then he’s clean again.

“That’s a useful spell, I should think,” Thor says as Loki leads him to a different part of the gardens.

“I will teach it to you, someday, if I have the chance,” Loki tells him as he settles down in the grass under the curtain of a weeping willow.

“If I can manage it.”

“I will teach you as much as I can within your limited magical prowess,” Loki sighs, extending a hand.  “My book, please.”

“I found it well-written and concise,” Thor tells him, sitting beside him.  “It was easy to understand, though I doubt I will remember all of it as well as you do.”

Loki hums contemplatively and produces a silver dagger from somewhere on his person.  It’s sharp and clearly well-cared for, with delicate scrollwork and gold filigree.

“If you read it well, then if you please, put a rune on this dagger to imbue it with poison.”

“You are a task master, my friend.”

Loki smirks as Thor takes the dagger from him.  “If you call me a friend, you must be lacking in people to speak with.  The third son of Farbauti King is not someone that you should befriend, for it will not get you anywhere.  My younger brother would perhaps be a better companion for the son of the High King of Ásgarðr.”

Thor looks up from where he’s just placed the runes on the dagger – not as neatly as Loki would have done, perhaps, but he _did_ it, and that’s an accomplishment, to be sure – and hands it to Loki.  “I do not wish to befriend them, Loki.  I enjoy your company, though it has only been a few days.  I find you interesting and intelligent.”

Loki rolls his eyes but flushes nonetheless and it pleases Thor to watch it travel down his neck and over his shoulders, making his spattering of freckles stand out even more.  “Don’t be an oaf, you hardly know me.”

“Then let me learn you,” Thor blurts and feels himself blush as Loki looks at him for a moment before shrugging.

“If you wish it, who am I to deny the Prince of the Blood?”  He looks down at the dagger and frowns a little, though.  “The runes are crooked.  _Do_ try harder to make them look a part of the metal.  Barely a passing grade.”

Thor nudges him with his shoulder and Loki laughs – the first laugh that Thor has heard from him the entire time that they’ve spoken.  He would love to hear it more.


	6. blue and building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potential trigger: discussions of gender and biological sex.
> 
> PLEASE see the end for notes regarding the spectrum that I have in mind.

Thor does not want to do many things.

He does not want to meet the daughters of the Jötnar confederation and have them fawn over him.  He does not want to sit through endless meetings about fighting tactics that he is not allowed to have an opinion over, especially if it differs from his father’s opinion.  He does not want to sit between people at dinner who ask him stupid, inane questions.

What he wants is to talk with Loki and learn magic from him.  He wants to hear Loki laugh – which is much freer now that he has realized that Thor does really want to be his friend.  He wants to watch Loki write in his notebooks about whatever it is that fills his head.  He wants to watch Loki work with molten metals between his fingers and form throwing stars and knives and then bully Thor into putting runes on them.

What he wants is to watch Loki smile like the first time Thor presents him with a perfectly made, perfectly spelled silver dagger with copper detailing and sapphires embedded in the hilt, spelled to shock anyone who isn’t the owner – who is, of course, Loki.

What he wants is to watch Loki’s nimble fingers fly over a piece of fabric that he works with a needle and metallic threads, hiding it every time that Thor tries to peek over his shoulder.  Loki just smiles at him and tells him to go back to his work and waits until he does to pull it back out and begin working again.

What he wants is what brings him to loiter outside the doors to Loki’s room two months into their stay on the snowy planet, pacing back and forth, waiting for Loki to come out.  After a long period, he opens the door gently because Loki has told him he may, if he does not answer – only to find the curtains still drawn, fire low in the grate.

He shuts the door and it re-locks with a soft snick; he creeps forward and Loki’s still sprawled in bed, blanket and sheets kicked off to puddle around his feet.  He snuffles in his sleep and rolls over, giving Thor a view of his back – and he’s so freckled, it’s almost funny – and then shivers.

Before he can think about it, Thor creeps forward, next to the bed, and pulls the covers back over Loki, up to his shoulders.  Loki snuffles again, squirming under them as though he may wake up, but then he stills and it brings a smile to Thor’s face.

He shall let his friend sleep.

He retreats to Loki’s desk to write him a note telling him to come to Thor’s room when he wakes when he hears the rustle of fabric and turns to find Loki sitting up, face soft with sleep and hair curling around his shoulders.

“What’re you doing?”

“Did I wake you?  Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm,” Loki sighs, and slumps back down into the covers, watching Thor all the same.  “No.”

“No to which?”

Loki shrugs with one shoulder and holds one hand up and out and Thor doesn’t understand for a moment, at least until Loki wiggles his fingers and Thor walks to sit on the side of Loki’s bed, something he has never before done.  He takes Loki’s hand, who uses it to manhandle him to sit against the headboard and then stretch out next to him, the bony curves of his horns nudging Thor’s stomach as Loki rests his head on Thor’s leg.

“My fengitími is coming up.  That’s why I’m so tired,” Loki says, flicking his fingers to draw back the curtains.

“I have no idea what that is,” Thor tells him, trying and failing to do the same thing – he knows the runes, can picture them inside his head, but nothing happens and he feels a little defeated in his efforts.

“I shall spare you my lamentations, then,” Loki hums, and the fire rises higher, obviously given life from Loki’s fingers.

“If it is something that I can help you with, I would rather know so that you are not – miserable, as it sounds you will be.”

Loki laughs softly, bangles around his wrists clinking as he laughs and rolls to face upwards, mindful of his horns near Thor’s skin.  “Thor, you have no idea what it was you just proposed to me.”

“Then explain it to me, friend, so I do not wallow in my stupidity.”

Loki sits up; a book comes floating from across the room from one of Loki’s many shelves.  Loki catches it and flips through it before handing it to Thor.

“Read this and understand.  I am going to bathe.  If you are still here whence I return, I will answer your questions.”  He slides out of the bed and over Thor’s legs, hiking up the swathe of fabric around his waist to keep himself covered.

As the door to his bathing chamber closes, Thor opens the book and begins to read.  It’s almost too much information about his friend.

When Loki exits his bathing room dressed Thor just looks at him, squinting, and Loki sighs and rolls his eyes.  It’s the most obvious expression of exasperation that Thor has seen Loki have the entire time that he has been in the Mjødhall.

“You’re not going to be able to see the change, Thor.  I won’t be coming out of this room for a week when it happens.”

“But you do not look like you are able to bear children.”

Loki laughs, his head tilted back and his hair falling from where he normally has it resting on his shoulder.  “Just because I do not look it does not make it untrue.”

“I do not understand,” Thor says, and when Loki clambers back up onto the bed to sit across from him he gestures with the book.  “I suppose I should say that the book did not truly go into detail about how it _works_.”

“Would you like to see?”

“No!” Thor barks out, his face turning red as he turns from where Loki has gripped the folds of his robe (deep blue, today, with tiny opals set into the neckline) and he doesn’t know if it’s because he truly does not want to know – not in this context, at least – or because he wants to know so _badly_.

Loki smirks and lets the fabric drop but the expression on his face is almost hurt, something so fleeting that Thor thinks that he might have imagined it.  “Then I can only explain it to you.  We do not have a set gender as your people do.  I can choose to look how I wish.  What is set, however, is fertility.  Neither of my brothers may bear children; I can, when my fengitími arrives thrice a year.  I appear male to you, but I could father children or bear children.  Some that appear female to you may only be able to donate rather than receive.”

“What of marriage, then?”

“What of it?  As long as the pair consents – or the triad, though that’s not as popular as it used to be – then they may join their lives as one.”  Loki lifts one shoulder in a shrug.  “Why does it matter?  What rules are there on Ásgarðr about joining ceremonies?”

“Normally a man and a woman – though two people of the same sex do get married occasionally.  I am not saying that it does not happen, just that – it does not happen in the way the book described.”

Loki sighs.  “Think of it this way.  Gender is what I choose to present myself as; my sex is not the same.  I am not one or the other, nor am I neither.  I am both.  There are many jötunn that are as I am.  They are not so open with it, perhaps, but they are there.  There are those that are single-sexed who identify with that sex and they are the same gender; there are those that are single-sexed but do not identify with that sex and thus are not the same,” Loki says and waves his hand.  “It is difficult to explain to someone that does not know what it is from birth.”

“I think I understand,” Thor says lowly, turning the book over and over in his hands.  “You are of both sexes – you may have children or give children – but you are a man, outwardly.  And you would not say that you are anything other than that.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s the best way to put it.”

“It is a difficult concept to grasp, that you could bear children.”

Loki tilts his head to the side, one strand of diamonds twinkling in the light from the window.  “I have not yet borne a child.  I am not joined to another.  I do not even know if I wish to bear children.”

“Were you married, would you?”

Loki gets a far-away look on his face, and his features soften in a way that Thor has never seen before – not on Loki, not on anyone – and he smiles as he looks off into the distance.  “I would, I think.  One or two, perhaps, to teach my magic to and raise as they should be raised.”

He turns his attention back to Thor and plucks the book from his hands and it floats back over to its proper place in the shelf.  “Would you, golden son?”

Thor smiles widely.  “I have always wanted children.  I find them lovely, soft and sweet.  I have already thought of their names.  Þrúðr for a girl, and either Magni or Móði for a boy.”

Loki hums and moves from his place in front of Thor to curl into his side – a position he only rarely takes, and only when he’s tired, Thor has learned – and curls a lock of Thor’s hair around his finger.  “Have you pictured them, in your head?”

Thor shrugs.  “I do not know what their mother would look like, so I cannot.  I would love them no matter their appearance, anyway.  They would be my children no matter what.”

“You would be a good father, I think.”

“Oh?”

Loki tugs on the lock of hair with a grin.  “You are not afraid to defend yourself and the people you care for.  You love easily.  You are willing to do whatever it takes.  I think you would do well with children.”

“I do love the children that run around the Goudhall, the children of the servants and others.  My parents expect an heir after I take the throne.”

Loki wiggles under Thor’s arm – and Thor’s always surprised at how warm he is, for being a son of the ice – and says, “I shall never have the throne, and I am glad for it; I will never have to do what others want or be a figurehead.  I am Loki, and I am Loki alone; I will never bend my will to another.”

“You are not alone.”

“I didn’t say that; I said that I am simply Loki, second son of the king but never allowed to be that second son.  I don’t mind it, to be honest; my brothers are far better suited to scraping and bowing to my father than I.  I am far too – ah – different,” Loki says with a sweeping gesture meant to signal himself, “and my father is ashamed enough of me as it is: imagine if I were to ascend to the throne!  He’d never allow it.”

“You are nothing to be ashamed of, Loki.”

Loki snorts violently and glares at Thor from under his eyelashes. “Do not tell my father that.  My mother loves me, as she loves all her children, but never would they say that they are proud of me.  My skill in magic is unmatched, but it is expected that one child in each generation of royalty will be exceptionally skilled.  I am nothing more than a burden upon them, someone that will not have a willing mate easily found.”

Thor reaches up and grips Loki’s chin, harder than he means to, but Loki is stronger than he looks; Loki has to meet his eyes in this position.  “You are not a burden.  You are nothing to be ashamed of.  I am proud to know you.  I would gladly fell all those that would tell you otherwise.  I would slaughter all for you, would you wish it.”

Loki doesn’t move as Thor continues.  “I would traverse time and space to make you realize this.  I would take you from this place to show you how you deserve to be treated, would you let me or ask me.  I do not know what I would have done had I not met you here, had I not found you in this place.  You are what I am not, what I could never be: you are more than the unwanted son.  I want you.  I will never stop.”

Loki closes his eyes and doesn’t move as Thor presses closer, presses his forehead to Loki’s, noses rubbing.  It’s the first time that Thor has touched him and not pulled away, not run away for fear of being rejected.

“You are dear to me, Loki.”

“Say it,” Loki chokes out, but his eyes have not opened, he has not moved, except to blink.  “Tell me.”

Thor cannot think of a moment in time where he has more worries in this – that he is beginning the courtship of another, for the first time in his life, and it is another prince – a prince that he was brought up to hate, to fear, but he cannot feel this way about Loki.  He raises his other hand and moves to cup Loki’s face between them, and he worries that Loki will pull away but Loki moves closer, breath flitting over his cheek as Thor thinks of how to say what he wants in the best way, in the shortest way but the most truthful.

“Minn sváss, svása Loki,” and Thor can feel Loki smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my hardest to describe the Jötunn sex and gender spectrum.
> 
> I guess the best way is this:  
> \- there are those whose sex and gender identity are the same (what we would call cisgender)  
> \- there are those whose sex and gender identity are not the same  
> \- there are those that are both sexes (NOT intersex; this is something completely different) and have chosen to represent themselves as a gender (ie, in this example, Loki is capable of both bearing and fathering children, and has chosen to present himself as male; he's a shapeshifter, after all)  
> \- there are those that are both sexes and agender  
> \- there are those that are agender and a biological sex that is not disclosed
> 
> I'm sure that there is a better way of going about this but I am trying to be both as tactful and non-offensive as possible and I am sure that there is something that I am doing wrong; if I've fucked something up terribly (or even a little) [drop something in my ask on tumblr](http://hydromeli.tumblr.com/ask) to correct me and give me feedback!!


	7. red and burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOVER TEXT!!
> 
> (I mean, hover over the Old Norse to read the translation!!)
> 
>  **eta:** I FORGOT TO ADD THIS LAST TIME!! LOOK AT THIS AMAZING FANART THAT [VulgarSequins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VulgarSequins/pseuds/VulgarSequins) / [sugarbonesloki](http://sugarbonesloki.tumblr.com) drew me! ARGHHHH SO AWESOME (go and [leave notes for it right hurr](http://sugarbonesloki.tumblr.com/post/32796324638/so-im-secretly-a-big-fan-of))
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](http://sugarbonesloki.tumblr.com/post/32796324638/so-im-secretly-a-big-fan-of)  
> 

It happens the next week.

Thor goes to Loki’s suite to keep him company – even though he spends most of the time sleeping, now – but when he goes to open the door it doesn’t budge, and that doesn’t make sense.  It doesn’t, at least, until he can hear movement on the other side of the wood and Loki’s voice issues from behind it.

“Please leave me, Thor,” and Thor can hear him rest on the door, displacing his weight, and he continues, “I will be well in a few days – four or five at the most.”

“I do not wish to leave you alone, Loki.”

“Well, you must.  There is no other option.  Go now.  I’ll come to you when I can.”

It takes a moment, because Thor wants to be there with Loki – at least to offer him the comfort of another person, another being to take his mind off things – but then he sighs, and lets his head hit the door with a solid _thunk_.  “As you wish, minn sváss.”

“Thank you,” Loki says, and then there is nothing.

Thor paces in front of the door for a few minutes, and then sets off to keep himself busy.

He manages this for three days, haunting the library and attending meetings where he and Helblindi manage to keep each other amused, playing word games on scraps of paper until Býleistr catches them and sends them scathing looks.  Helblindi smirks at him.  Thor sighs.

He has no intention of spending another day in meetings, yet again, so he sets out to find his mother on the third day of not seeing Loki.

She’s in her suite, patiently brushing out her hair – it reaches nearly to her knees now, gleaming gold and curled – and none of her maidens are there to assist her.

“Shall I help you, mother?”

She smiles at him and holds out the comb – he recognizes it as the one that he gave her after one of his trips, made of bone with a hunting scene he carved on it – and he steps up behind her, brushing out the snarls and knots.

When he finishes, he smiles at Frigga and asks, “Shall I braid it for you?  I have not done so for quite some time.”

She sighs – and he knows it’s an act, because she doesn’t mind a whit – but nods, and he sets to work.  It takes a few moments for him to get back into the swing of it – he used to braid his mother’s hair all the time, until he grew out of it – but, when things get difficult, he knows that he can turn to his mother for the comfort.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed until he has finished, and the sun is high in the sky, already past midday; Frigga smiles at him through the mirror, and reaches up to hold the hand that he has rested on her shoulder.

“Have you a troubled mind, my child?”

Thor sits down on the bench of the vanity, facing the opposite direction.  He fidgets for a moment, mucking about with the alignment of his vambraces and then adjusting his collar, but Frigga turns and rests a gentle hand on his arm.

“Thor, my son, I know something is bothering you.  Please, tell me.”

“I may have an attraction for someone,” Thor says, finally, not managing to look his mother in the eyes.  “They are not of Ásgarðr.”

Frigga nods, patting his hand a few times.  “Are they of Jötunheimr?”

Thor accomplishes a nod, though it’s short and terse.  “I do not know how to go about courting them in the proper way.”

“You should tell your father, first.  It may do more good to the agreements between us to have a potential marriage.”

Thor rears up at this, and Frigga looks taken aback when Thor says, “I will _not_ , if that is the ultimate goal!”

“You will do as we tell you.”

Thor turns from his mother to find his father in the doorway, Gungnir at his side.  He’s wearing his ceremonial armor – so there must have been only a meeting of the kings and their guards, today – and he looks especially fierce, especially daunting.

“If it is in our best interests for you to pursue a marriage contract with one of the Jötnar, then so be it.  As it is, the thought has crossed both my mind and Fárbauti’s mind.  It would seem that you will be telling me what Jötnar woman you have your eye on,” Odin tells him, Gungnir thumping on the floor as Odin walks towards him.  “Will you defy me?”

Thor cannot help but stand taller, stand straighter, as Odin stops in front of him, waiting for his answer.

Thor cannot marry another, for it is Loki that his mind is occupied with – beautiful Loki, who is witty and funny and full of surprises, who smiles when things are difficult but frowns when he thinks that no one is watching.  Loki, who holds his hand to teach him new runes and to correct the movement of his fingers, who presses a kiss to his burned fingertips when he singes them on the fire rune.  Loki, who fixes his own clothes and flatters the kitchen maids for extra tarts because he knows Thor adores them.  Loki, with his freckles and his blushes and his dangling jewels.  Loki.

“No,” Thor says.

“You will not defy me?”

“No, I will not marry according to your whims,” Thor clarifies, looking down at his father and, for the first time, realizing how old his father is.  “I will not marry one that I do not love.”

“If you want this Jötnar woman, you might as well –” Odin begins, Gungnir tilting forward ever so slightly, threatening, but Thor moves away and towards the door.

“It is not a woman, and I will not marry him unless he wishes it,” Thor says, turning his back on his parents.

“You _dare_ to defy me!”

“To do what is right!” Thor shouts, whirling from where he has reached the door.  Mjölnir is in his hand before he can even contemplate his actions.  “I will not be your bargaining chip in this quest! I will not allow Loki to be the bargaining chip for your plans!”

“The runt of the litter?  Could you not at least choose a worthier candidate?”

Thor levels Mjölnir at his father.  “Do not,” he says, voice low and deadly, “speak of him in that manner.”

“Don’t be foolish, Thor.  Your father only cares for you,” Frigga says, trying to diffuse the tension.

“No,” Thor says, dropping his arm and opening the door, “he is an old man, and he is the fool, and I cannot believe that I did not see it earlier.”

He leaves, and does not look back.

He locks himself in his room and looks to the outside – still blue, still shining – and thinks for a moment that if he could escape with Loki he would, to leave and never come back, make their home on some distant planet and live happily ever after.

But that is not what is in the cards for them: Odin will come around (at least, Thor hopes) and things will go back to normal, Thor playing the pawn and Loki being invisible to all but Thor.  He does not want that.  He wants to have Loki on his arm, his mate, his partner; his queen, someday, and perhaps the other parent of his children.

Some hours later, after staring out his window, motionless, there’s a knock on the door and he opens it to find a platter of food – sent to him by his mother, with a note telling him Odin will not punish him nor push him to marry, but that they will have a discussion when Thor is ready – and Thor devours the food and, after stripping himself of his armor and tossing it about the room, he collapses into bed and sleeps.

He sleeps until he wakes to a weight on his thighs, cold, and he almost calls Mjölnir to his hand before he realizes that it’s _Loki_ perched over him, disheveled and wild.

“You will tell me if it is true or not that you told your father that you would not allow us to be a bargaining chip,” he hisses, and he faintly glows in the darkness, his skin dappled with the light from the moon and stars.  His eyes shine and change in the dark, and when Thor tries to sit up to speak to him Loki pushes him back down with power that Thor did not know he had.

“I did,” Thor says, reaching out to rest his hands on Loki’s thighs, bare from where his robe has ridden up.  He cannot stop his fingers from moving over his flesh, because this is as much of Loki as he has ever seen, unadorned but for the wrap around his hips and the jewels he always wears.

Loki hisses through his teeth and leans forward, hands above Thor’s shoulders and caging him in.  “You silly, stupid, golden fool,” Loki mutters, “and I love you for it.”

Thor strokes his palms up the length of Loki’s thighs, under the fabric until Loki shows his teeth and Thor stops, because the expression on his face is wild and animalistic, and he doesn't know if it is a threat or a warning.

“You do not even know what you _do_ to me, do you,” Loki says, and Thor knows it is rhetorical, so he does not answer.  Loki continues.  “I have done naught but think of you this entire time, of the things that you would do – how you would _breed_ me, my Thor, and how you would look in the throes of passion –  minn sváss, minn konungs-efni.”

“Minn ást-kærr, minn dróttningar-efni, minn Loki,” Thor breathes, and Loki laughs, because Thor thinks he does not know what else to do.

“No one has ever defended my name before, because I was not worth it,” Loki says, and leans down so close that Thor could count the freckles on his face, connect them all into patterns.  “Soon, Thor.  Soon, we will have whatever we want.”

He leans in so that they brush noses – and Thor wants to kiss him, stretches up for one – but then Loki’s gone, like a dream, just the scent of him left behind.


	8. metallic and royal

Thor avoids his father for the next two days, taking meals in his room and sneaking out late in the day to go to the library – where, if his father ventures, Myrgjöl allows him to hide in her office behind the desk, and he will admit that he’s hiding – and read about anything that he can find.  Myrgjöl has taken a shine to him, since it seems like the whole Mjödhall has found out about the argument that Thor and Odin had.  As Loki spends much of his time in the library or the archives, Myrgjöl has taken a shine to him and dotes upon him, bringing him late snacks and giving him new books that haven’t been catalogued yet.

Sometimes he sneaks down to the kitchens late at night and plays poker with the servers – who, even though he’s royalty, beat him every single time, until he tells them that they must teach him what they know – and then learns how they live and work and how they are treated.  He likes speaking to them and learning about life on this planet – and the other planets that they come from, because not all of them are Jötnar – and they learn from him.

He comes back to his room one night, after a rousing poker match – where he was _so close_ to winning that he could taste it – to find Nál Queen waiting for him, looking out his window.

She turns at his intake of breath and smiles, just a quirk of her lips, and Thor knows now where Loki got that habit. 

“Your highness,” Thor says, and bows lowly, but she laughs, silver bells and clarity.

“I am not here as a Queen, princeling.  I am here as a mother.  Come, sit.  There is no need for you to stand within your own rooms.”

He feels awkward in her presence; she’s not as tall as her husband or her sons but she still has a foot or so on him.  She smiles as they settle in at the table where Thor has spread out his reading and his notes – some with Loki’s scrawl on them where Loki has corrected him – and she looks them over before she speaks.

“My son is teaching you magic?”

“He is attempting to do so.  I am only marginally successful.”

She smiles again.  “Loki will prevail.  He always does, with the things that have meaning to him.  But as much as I find it interesting that you wish to learn magic that is not what I have come here to talk to you about.”

She steeples her fingers and seems to think for a moment, then sighs.  “I suppose the easiest the way to ask my query is to just ask.  You know that it has passed through these halls what you and your father the King argued about.  I would like to know to what extent these rumors are true.  What intentions do you have towards my son?”

His mouth drops opens, a habit his mother long ago broke him of, and he doesn’t quite know how to answer until he clicks his jaw shut.  She waits patiently, smiling a little, as though she understands the spot that she has put him in.

“I cherish his company,” he begins with, sweeping his hand over his notes, “because he decided to teach me when others have simply thought me too stupid to comprehend the facts.  He trusted me with magic that others have not learned in my family, even if I am not nearly as adept at the skill as Loki wishes that I were.  When I make mistakes, rather than chastising me – well, he does chastise me, but from him it is motivation – when I make mistakes, he takes the time to explain what went wrong.”

He smiles at the thought.  “He pleases me in all ways.  He listens, and understands, and I try to do the same for him, even if he prefers to keep things close to his heart.  I feel complete with him, and though my father wishes to use us to cement relations between our people, I will not allow that to happen.”

He realizes that he’s just old that to the queen of the people that his father must make an alliance with, but she is still smiling, not looking too perturbed.

“It is good that the two of you treasure each other,” she begins, “because I have not been able to love my son as I should have done for his lifetime.”

She stands and returns to the window, watching the snow as it swirls around in a storm.  “My other sons were always groomed to take the throne because they seemed to need the attention, whereas my Loki was always independent and set upon doing things for himself.  Looking back – and, mind you, queens do not often admit their wrongs – I should have paid him more mind, simply because he was so bent upon being his own being.  Of my children, he is the most intelligent.”

She turns to look at him, clasping her hands in front of him.  “I spent the time with him during his fengitími, just to make sure that he stayed well.  It is tradition.  He spoke highly of you.”

“I think highly of him.”

She laughs and returns to her chair, smile wide and genuine.  “He visited you in the middle of it, however, and that was dangerous on his part.  When I woke he was gone, but he returned moments later.”

“He asked me much of what you are now, though in his way, and then he vanished.  I feel as though that was his goal, just to make sure that I would not lie to him, and rightly so,” Thor says as he begins to sort his notes and papers, “but I will admit that I was more worried for his health than my own skin.”

Nál Queen smiles and reaches within her robes and pulls out a silver chain with a blue glass disc on the end.  The disc is perhaps as wide as his thumb and highly polished, similar to the one that Loki wears sometimes, though rather than being plain as Loki’s is, this has a silver rim around the edge of the disc, perhaps to keep it from chipping.  “Take this as a token from me, as the mother of the son that you have chosen, not as a queen to a prince.  If you keep him safe and treat him well, I will be in your debt.”

He takes it from her and pulls it on over his head, and for a moment he thinks to put it under his clothes but he does not, because he is not afraid to show the gift given to him.  Nál Queen smiles again, the same smile that his mother gives him when she’s especially pleased, and before he can thank her she stands and leans down to brush a kiss over his forehead.

“You will temper my son a little, I feel, but you are a good match.  You have my blessing,” she tells him, a hand resting on his shoulder, and he bows his head in thanks.

When he looks up, she’s gone.


	9. ice and flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOVER TEXT!!
> 
> (I mean, hover over the Old Norse to read the translation!!)

Thor is called to his mother’s side to help her with her loom, though she is completely able to work it herself.  She likes the company, he knows, so he does not begrudge her the request.  He talks with her, little meaningless things, things that are harmless and simple and don’t point to the tenseness that is rife in her chambers.

After the noon meal, he excuses himself and returns to his chamber and finds Loki sitting on the edge of his bed, swathed in shimmering purple cloth and thick white fur, hood up around his head.  He holds out another bundle of fur and wordlessly drapes it around Thor’s shoulders and flips the hood on his head, fingers trailing over the glass disc around his neck for a moment.

“Come with me,” he says.

Thor reaches and tangles his fingers with Loki’s, and the warmth of a spell wraps around him - too warm, almost - and Loki pulls him from the room and down an endless maze of corridors.  He cannot keep track of the turns, and whenever he begins to ask Loki where they are going he is hushed.

They exit the Mjödhall and Thor expects the harsh cold of the planet, but he is warm.  He knows not if it is the fur or the spell but it soaks into his bones and makes him smile with the pleasure of it.  The wind whips the snow into dunes around them, huge piles rising and falling all around them.  It’s not snowing but the wind makes it seem so.

Loki tugs him along, snow gathering at the hem of his robe and climbing up the edge but Loki does not seem to notice or care.  Thor marvels at that, for he wishes that he could ignore the cold as Loki does.

They begin to descend a path towards the Kalda Marr and Thor expects them to stop far from the edge, but Loki keeps going until he ducks under a low edge and - there’s a _door_.

Loki puts his hand on the door, just like the locks on his room, and the door melts to nothingness. He pulls Thor through the door and it reappears like it had never vanished.

Loki still hasn’t said a word yet, but shucks off his furs and goes around lighting lamps with his fingers.  It’s clear that this place is his secret, somewhere that other people have never been before.  Thor removes his furs and picks Loki’s up from the floor and hangs them on a hook near the door.  The room is warm and slightly humid, as though the sea has just managed to penetrate the walls.

Loki turns to him once the lamps are lit and a fire flutters in the grate, watching as Thor settles down on the hvíl-beðr.  He moves from the fireplace to the space between Thor’s knees, reaching out to lift the pendant off Thor’s chest to inspect it.  He doesn’t remove it, but simply rubs his thumb over it before letting go, gently.

“Do you know what this place is?”

“No.”

“It is my galdra-hellir, though it’s not as dank and dark as it once was.  This is where I learned everything I know of magic, all the things that I could never learn within the palace.  If I had never made this place, I would have never discovered the deep spaces within me.”

Thor furrows his brow.  “I do not follow, Loki.”

“Look,” he says, “look,” and presses his lips to Thor’s forehead.

It is fire and ice, the sea and the land, swirling and coalescing in huge eddies within Loki’s body, but not within it at all; it is beyond but wholly within him.  It is as though the whole of the universe is within him, swirling and changing and _living_.  It’s endless and timeless and more beautiful than anything that Thor has even seen or touched or _been_.  He can feel Loki’s magic as a solid thing, but shapeless and malleable according to Loki’s whims and will.

He doesn’t know how long he floats and falls through Loki, through the sheer _vastness_ of him, but it doesn’t matter.  He knows Loki’s magic like he knows the whorls and lines of Mjölnir; he knows it as though it is now a part of him.

He knows where Loki will let their children blossom and grow, where they will be safe within him until they are ready for the world, ready for the power that they will wield and use as their tools.

He _knows_.

His fingers are biting into Loki’s hips and he knows that Loki will bruise because he always does, no matter how soft the blow, but Loki’s panting above him, hands on Thor’s shoulders and riming them with frost.

Loki leans down and their kiss is not so much a kiss as a battle of mouths, Thor thinks, teeth and lips and tongue.  Their teeth clack and Loki nips at Thor’s bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and it smears their mouths.  When Loki pulls away Thor chases after him, his eyes wild and bright.

Thor has never wanted someone as badly as he wants Loki, wants everything that Loki is willing to give him or wants to give him or is willing to take from Thor.

Loki licks the blood from his lips and then leans down to clean it from Thor’s lips, Thor’s tongue chasing after him.

Loki settles down on his lap, pushing him to rest against the back of the hvíl-beðr, all long lines and elegance.

He leans forward, long hair falling over his shoulder (and Thor notices that it’s loosely braided today, barely twined together) and presses sweet kisses to Thor’s cheek before moving to Thor’s ear.

“Did you know,” he whispers, lips brushing the curve of Thor’s ear, “that though I will always conceive a child during my fengitími and am most receptive then, that when I have chosen my partner there will always be a chance for conception, minn konungs-efni, even if my fengitími has just passed?”

“Loki,” Thor manages, and he can’t take his eyes off of him, can’t look away from him, from the elegant curve of his shoulder, the sweep of his back.

“I _burn_ for you,” Loki says, voice low and rough, “like a moth to a flame, eager to touch the apex and be burned away, burned into something new; I _long_ for it, like nothing I have wanted before.  I ache for you, more now than before because I know it is _possible_.”

Loki presses his face into the curve of Thor’s shoulder and Thor encircles him with his arms, holding him tight and close. 

“I feel the emptiness in my womb where our child should be,” and the words are muffled and hidden, almost too soft for Thor to hear.  “I thought nothing but of you breeding me, in the most carnal way, in the _best_ way, and I was ashamed.  But now - now I am not, I cannot be, I _will not_ be ashamed of what I want.”

“Minn Loki,” Thor says, rough and broken, “I wish nothing more than to have that with you.”


	10. fur and lightening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOVER TEXT!!
> 
> (I mean, hover over the Old Norse to read the translation!!)

Thor is both prepared and surprised at just how much skin Loki seems to have, deep blue in the yellow of the lamps.  He’s not trying to be sensual, but Thor cannot help but marvel at his beauty.

Loki is sitting near the fire, robe draped around his hips.  He’s watching a pot on the fire, some kind of stew, but Thor is more focused on watching the muscles in his back shift and move.  Every so often he shrugs, a movement of his shoulders so slight that Thor wonders if Loki knows that he’s moving at all.  It’s almost as though his skin is too small for him, stretched tight.

Loki stands and moves to fetch two bowls.

“Come here,” Thor says, still supine on the hvíl-beðr, and Loki quirks a smile and comes.  He slides into the space that Thor has made for him in the crook of his arm, and Thor cannot come up with words to explain the sensation of Loki’s skin all along his arm.

Unlike the Æsir, Loki has scant body hair, smooth and flawless save for the splattering of freckles that Thor adores.  Loki reaches for the other hand and their fingers meet, and Thor marvels at though their skin is so different, they are so alike.

“You like to touch me,” Loki murmurs, and Thor looks away from their hands to meet eyes with him.

“I enjoy it much,” Thor says, “it brings me happiness, as I hope it does to you.”

“It’s strange,” Loki begins, twisting their fingers a little, passing his thumb over the scars on Thor’s knuckles from years of sword-play, “because most do not wish to touch me for fear that something will happen to them.  What, I am not sure, but there is an obvious stigma that comes with touching the flesh of the smá-Jötnar.  That’s what they call me, you know.”

He says it without concern, but Thor knows it must have stung.  He lets Loki continue.

“Sometimes people would approach me - not my own people, of course - and they would pursue me until it was clear that I would never be king.  It was a game for them, a game that I learned to play to my advantage.  I word here, a kiss there, and I would get what I needed: information, magic, treaties.  I knew when and where my talents were needed.  But you, you didn’t want any of that.”

“No,” Thor says, not enough to stem Loki’s flow of words but enough to get a smile.

“You were bent upon learning things and I just happened to be the gateway, but it was more - it was _always_ more.  You didn’t have ulterior motives.”

“Might have,” Thor says, pressing a kiss to Loki’s forehead and Loki laughs.

“I approve of those, however.”

Thor laughs and lets Loki squirm away to fetch the stew; he watches for a moment more before moving to the small table near the fire.  The stew is fragrant and filled with flavors and he goes through two bowls and a handful of soft rolls before stopping.

Loki has gotten redressed, furs back around his shoulders and when Thor has finished he banks the fire and with a twitch of his fingers, the bowls are clean.  “Come, we’ll be missed if we don’t return soon.”

“You are right, as usual.”

Loki stretches up the inch difference in height and presses a kiss to the tip of Thor’s nose, laughing.  “I am always right.”

* * *

They are not missed, but after their escape outside the walls they are both called to the meeting room where the kings and queens are all awaiting them; they bow lowly.

“The Níðhǫggr have been sighted coming from Ginnungagap.”

Silence greets the words of Fárbauti King, until: “But they were pushed within the Void centuries ago!”

“The Void works in strange ways.  It knows things beyond our ken; to the Void, only minutes may have passed.  And what the Void spits out is not the same as what went in,” Fárbauti King tells Thor.  “You know what must be done.”

His gaze flicks to the hammer in Thor’s hand and his grip tightens, because he does know what must be done.

“What?” Loki asks, his gaze flying between his father and Thor, lost in the short conversation.  “What must be done?”

“The Bifrost must be activated.”

“No,” Loki says, hand moving to take Thor’s, mindless of the sneer his father makes.  “No, we cannot.”

“We must.”

“We have done it once before and it did nothing, _nothing_ , aside from stalling their return!  You would sacrifice your son, the Prince of the Blood, for a chance that it _might_ work?” Loki says, turning to Odin.

“It will work -” Odin begins, but Loki interrupts him.

“Oh yes, it _will_ work, for all of a short time and then the Níðhǫggr will return and your first-born will be dead for _naught_ , for no reason whatsoever!”

“Mind your tongue,” Fárbauti King says to him, pointing from his throne.  “You words have no value here.  The decision has been made.”

Loki bares his teeth at his father, eyes wide and wild but he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but turn to Thor.  “Thor?”

Thor tightens his grip on Mjölnir for a moment, feeling the leather wrap bite into his palms, and looks to his right where Loki stands.  The grip Loki has on his hand would break the bones of another, but it cannot break Thor.  He looks towards his parents, the leaders of the Æsir, and Frigga tilts her head to the side, tears in her eyes.  He looks towards Loki’s parents, the leaders of the Jötnar.  Nál Queen gives him a little half-smile, the same smile as Loki.

Loki.

He looks to Loki again, his heart thundering in his chest.  The room is getting smaller and smaller.  He knows what he must do.

He _knows_.

He drops Mjölnir to the floor, the stone cracking from the impact.  Loki flushes, then pales, and looks toward the throne.

It is silent.

As one, they turn and walk to the doors and before the two of them can exit, Odin calls out.

“If you leave, you are no son of mine.”

Thor turns and looks back at his father, red in the face and furious.  His mother looks sad, but he knows that she understands, or will understand.

“Then I am not your son.”

They step out, and the door closes.


	11. snow and space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOVER TEXT!!
> 
> (I mean, hover over the Old Norse to read the translation!!)
> 
> (also I take full responsibility for the inaccuracy of the translation and/or the construction of the sentences, but I did as best I could.)

They make it back to Loki’s rooms without encountering anyone, silent and scared and slightly exhilarated all at the same time.  When they get there and behind the doors Loki has him pressed up against them, mouth on his, hot and slick and sweet.

“Þú ert vit-lauss, undar-ligr fífl,” Loki breathes against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling away, just enough to pass a hand over Thor’s face in the air, not touching but hovering.  “Hví ert þú svá undar-ligt?”

“Er þú hafa elsku í einn hverr, þú munt gera hvern hlut.”

Loki smiles for a moment, but then it fades.  “What will we do?”

“I do not know,” Thor answers with a shrug, “but whatever it is, we will be together.”

There is a knock on the door, and they freeze; after a moment, Loki sighs and tugs Thor away from the door.  “It’s Helblindi.”

Loki opens the door wide enough for Helblindi to stoop down and enter the room, and Loki locks and wards the door behind him.

“You’ve done it now, Loki,” Helblindi sighs, settling down on a bench near the fire.  “Not that I blame you, I have always known our intentions, but you’ve shocked them into silence.”

Loki sits next to his brother and Thor follows him, simply because he is at a loss to what he should do.  Loki scoffs at his brother.  “Your father, maybe.”

Helblindi rests a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and it surprises him still how large Helblindi is, how large they all are.  “This will have repercussions, you know that.  But I need to know what you want me to do.”

Loki turns to Thor.  He doesn’t need to speak because Thor knows that Loki wants his opinion.  “We need a ship to get off-planet and somewhere safe; I need to get back to Ásgarðr to collect my things, but then we will be off.”

Helblindi nods, standing.  “I can get you a ship, one of mine, but that is all that I can do right now.”

Loki stands as well, taking Helblindi’s hand in his for a moment.  “Thank you, brother. Thank you.”

“I’ll come back late tonight for you.  It’s the dark of the moon, so near midnight.  Be ready.”

“We will,” Loki tells him, and then Helblindi is gone.

Loki turns to him and Thor gathers him in his arms, holds him close, and lets Loki breathe into his chest.

“We must prepare.”

* * *

They prepare the rest of the day, and Thor is surprised at how difficult it is to pack all their things.  Loki uses his magic to send things to the ship that Helblindi has given to them, the name of which came in a note slid under the door.

Thor doubts it came from him, but Loki assures him that it is authentic.  By the time the two of them finish Loki’s room - a lifetime of goods and work and books - the daylight is nearly all gone. Loki uses his magic to keep them hidden as they go to Thor’s room.  Loki leaves him there to pack, though there is not a lot to get ready; he has his cases, and his armor, but much of his things had migrated to Loki’s room over the time on-planet.

Loki goes to his galdra-hellir and gets his things from there, and meets Thor back in his room.  He’s flushed and sweating, and Thor worries for a moment.

“I had to hide from my father on the way back; he nearly saw me,” Loki breathes against his shoulder.  “Have you packed everything?”

“All the things I brought with me, Loki.”

Loki slides his hand to knot with Thor’s, and he looks scared.  It is the first time that Thor has seen the flush of fear on his skin.  “You truly wish to leave and be with me?”

“Where you wish to go, I will follow.  Where you need to go, I will follow.  You are my moon and my stars,” Thor says, and Loki laughs.

“Sweet words,” Loki tells him, “but sweet words will not save us now.  We have to go back to my rooms and wait for my brother.”

* * *

Helblindi sneaks through the door when the moon rise should be full, though there is no moon that night.  Loki takes his hand, and then Thor’s hand, and they walk invisible through the halls of the Mjødhall.  Helblindi takes them outside, the same way that they came on planet so many weeks ago.  It feels strange, to be walking hand-in-hand with someone that was once an enemy, to be helped by someone that was born to be set against them.

The snow is beautiful, Thor realizes, as it swirls around them and into huge drifts along the walkway.  It is not something that he has thought often, but here it is gorgeous.  There is nothing growing here, nothing that will rot and pollute the snow.  It is pure.

He squeeze Loki’s hand and Loki returns it.  He does not know if Loki has ever been off-planet, though he _must_ have been, sometime, somewhere.

When they get to the port, the ship looms into view, large and silver.  It’s not a ship for battle, no, but for transport and exploration.

Loki lets go of their hands and they reappear, but hidden from the view of the Mjødhall.  They huddle together to be heard over the roar of the wind that whips the snow.

“You’ve a full staff on board,” Helblindi shouts, “and a full cargo hold of food and goods.  All your belongings are on board.  I’ve had the tracking systems disabled, so you can set them to where you’d like once you find a home port.”

“Thank you,” Loki tells him, and pulls him down into a hug.

Helblindi lets his brother go, and then claps Thor on the shoulder.  “Be well,” he shouts, and steps off into the snow.

Loki tugs him towards the docking bay, but Thor hesitates.  Loki looks back at him, brow furrowed under the hood of his furs, clearly confused.

“I’ve forgotten something,” Thor shouts over the howling wind, and Loki rolls his eyes.

“You must leave it behind,” Loki yells into his ear, but Thor smiles at him.

“Don’t worry,” Thor tells him, and raises his arm into the air.

Nothing happens for a long minute, but then over the wind there’s a shrill whistling.  Loki stumbles backwards as a ball of light slams into Thor’s hand, but Thor is still standing.

In his hand is Mjölnir, shining blue in the white of the snow.  “Now we can go,” Thor shouts, grinning.

Loki is shocked still and it takes Thor taking his hand and leading him to the ship to get him moving.

As they enter the docking bay and the ship’s outer doors slam shut, Loki whirls to face him.  “You did not tell me you could do that!”

Thor shrugs as the disembodied voice of the pilot says, “Setting air pressure,” and hooks the hammer back to his belt.

“I never thought of it, in truth.  And now, I have my hammer back and it cannot be used against us.”

“But you are the only one that can wield it, you said.”

Thor shrugs again as the inner doors open with a _whoosh_.  “I said that I was the only one of this age that I was aware of.  There could be another that my parents kept from me.  I would rather be safe and reacquire it than leave it embedded in the floor of the throne room.”

“Quit your bickering and get in here,” a voice calls, and Thor _knows_ that voice, knows it, and they turn the corner and he sees his dearest friend and pilot Sif at the helm.

“Lady Sif!” Thor says, and brings Loki forward towards the front of the ship.  “How is it that you are here?”

“Helblindi is strangely persuasive when he wishes to be, and we’ve been on call to help you two for weeks.  He knew what they were going to ask you to do, and as soon as you refused this morning he had us get everything ready,” she says, turning the chair around and standing.

She bows low to them, unhooking her blades from her belt and holds them out to Loki, who can only look at her.  He doesn’t move until she speaks.

“I have already sworn my blades to fight and protect the Prince of the Blood.  Now I will swear them to you, his chosen, and on my life I will protect yours.”

Loki hesitates for a moment, but then reaches out and grips the sheathed blade.  “I accept your offer.  Stand, as my sverð-berari.  I am honored by you.”

Sif stands and grins, hooking her blades back to her belt.  “Well, where are we going?”

Loki pushes back his hood and Sif’s eyes widen, mostly because she had never seen a Jötnar, aside from Helblindi.  He knows that Sif will treat Loki well, because to Thor Sif is as a sister; Loki will be as a brother to her.

“For now?  Away from here, to interplanetary space.”

“Yes, sir.”


	12. intermission: loki

He's never had the real opportunity to explore space, as it were; he would use the Link to learn about the other planets, the other races, but Loki had never been off-planet.  He was too useful to allow free reign in travel, but too useless to be allowed any freedoms.

He had the garden, and the library, and his magic.

He had asked to go with Helblindi on the diplomatic mission, because it might have been helpful for the Æsir to see someone on par with their stature, but his father had scoffed and told him he had no weight in the negotiations to begin with.

When Helblindi returned - with the Æsir in tow - he had some to Loki and told him everything, all the things that he had seen on the other planet, all the things that he saw in space, and Loki could only listen, and dream, and imagine that vastness and freedom.

That first dinner meeting, though, he had feared the Æsir, feared what they would think, but then he saw the Prince of the Blood, and he saw Loki.

He  _saw_ Loki.

It was terrifying.

Helblindi had sneaked into his suite later that night, pestering him about the Æsir prince and what Loki thought of the delegation, until he picked through Loki's short sentences and tone and had figured it out.  Helblindi had smiled and gotten a comb from Loki's vanity and proceeded to unravel all his braids and jewels, clearing out the snarls and then re-braiding them.  When Loki had asked about his affection, though Helblindi was the only member of his family that didn't even think about touching Loki, much less caring about him so it wasn't unusual, Helblindi had just grinned a little and told him not to worry about it.

Then his world had turned around, and for a few days he hated himself and he hated Thor, because he made things so  _different_ and even though Loki  _knew_ that things were bad for him, that he was treated poorly by his father, Thor had made it clear that there were better things and better people.

It wasn't a paradigm shift, per se, but it was enough to make the anger that he had been letting burn for so long could finally boil over, and it did, and it was beautiful in its destruction of his father's perfect little world.

He feels reborn, almost, burned clean by the anger and remade by Thor's hands, his words, the purity of his deeds.  It's curious.

He cannot get enough of the Observation Deck, though; nothing but a wall of windows, open to the vastness before them, nebulae in the distance, the nearest sun warming and charging their solar panels.  He's commandeered this space, though no one would begrudge him that, anyway.  The crew that Helblindi had created for them - Æsir and Álfar and Svartálfar and a few Hrímthur and Náir, too, a motley group - were loyal and pleased to fight for them, work for them.

Sif runs a tight ship, though Thor is technically the leader and commander, but everyone knows that Thor defers to her when it comes to the ship and navigation and "space things."

He likes Sif, likes how sharp she is, how she knows the ins and outs of the world that Loki had only dreamed of.  Where he teaches Thor magic and spells, Sif teaches Loki the controls and all about the finer details of the ship that they've been given.

" _The Mourner_ ," she said, "is the pinnacle of interplanetary travel, with the best of the best, and if it  _isn't_ the best, I'll make it that way."

He had scoffed at the name - contrived, at best - but when he had questioned Sif on it, she had smiled in such a way that it made him shiver with the promise of violence behind it.  He hadn't mentioned it since.

The Link tablet at his side makes a soft  _chirp_ and he swipes the screen back on, but it's just another rumor about him and Thor joining some renegade fleet; his favorite so far was that they had become part of a band of pirates in another system, waiting for the time to strike back.  Thor's favorite was that they had disguised themselves and were parading around under the noses of the various kingdoms.

He peruses the news for a bit, data mining and sending encrypted messages to Helblindi (and copying Thor's younger brother Baldr; though he thinks it's risky, Thor assures him that Baldr would not endanger this brother, much like Helblindi would not endanger him) before setting the tablet back in the charger on the table.

Spacetech is so much different than the world that he has grown up in; the Link back in the Mjødhall was  _years_ old, completely dated, but his father would not buy new ones because they had been produced by the Menn, who were firmly in the camp of the Æsir, no matter how many times that they said they were neutral.

He likes it, though, how streamlined things are, how far things have come since he was a child.

What has been difficult for both of them, however, has been getting used to casting in space.  Loki doesn't know if it's the lack of a connection to the ground or the vacuum of space that is throwing them off - Loki more than Thor, since he has gotten used to a particular way of magic and Thor has not - but it took two burnt-out rooms before they both managed to figure it out.

Sif had  _not_ been pleased.  It would have been amusing, had her anger been pointed at another.

(It had taken two port stops to buy all the things they needed to replace the rooms.)

The intercom chimes and Sif's voice floats through the room, alerting everyone that dinner will be ready in five minutes, and the door opens at the same time.

Loki turns and Thor's leaning against the doorway smiling, something he does a lot now that they're safe; Loki smiles back at him, and it warms him in a way that nothing had before.

"Coming?" Thor asks, holding out a hand, and Loki nods.

He stands and smooths the wrinkles in his robe (one that Sif bought for him at their last port stop, a deep grey softer than anything he's ever felt, and warm to boot) and takes Thor's hand.  His hands are rough from working in engineering with the crew, helping to strengthen the guns and the shields, trying to make this ship as strong as they can.

Thor presses a kiss to his cheek and Loki smiles, feeling free, finally happy.


	13. intermission: sif

The first time that Sif realizes the depth of their relationship, she's stationed at her desk in the command center, facing the large windows and playing with the star map, plotting their next trip.  Thor and Loki are sitting close to the window, huddled together.  Sif's not really paying them any mind, until she hears Loki laugh softly.

"I know the constellations and the planets, though I have never been in space," he says, and presses the tip of one long finger to Thor's nose.  "I am not so unintelligent."

Thor smiles, face soft and love-dumb, and it strikes her that she has not ever seen him in that way.  It makes her smile, pleased that he's as happy as he is.  She's pleased that he has, in a way, dropped the trappings of youth and become the man that she has known he would be.

She ducks her head to hide the smile when they move away from the window.  She doesn't want to get caught.

The next time, Thor is sitting in the research bay, watching Loki spin balls of magic between his fingers until they slow and become glass, grinning as Loki sets them down, one by one.  They're delicate and Sif thinks they have to be fragile as well, but Loki throws one to the floor as Thor gasps.

The sphere bounces, glass but not, and rolls to her feet.  She picks it up, and it feels like glass would but it doesn't break.  Loki calls over to her that she should keep that one, and continues to spin them from nothing until Thor is laughing and his lap is filled with the baubles.

It's so sweet that Sif knows that they love each other more than seems possible.

Sometimes she wishes that she had that kind of love, and says as much to Thor, and he wraps her in a hug a tells her that someday she will find someone.  She would like to think that he is right, but her first love has been and will always be the ship, and space.  There is nothing compared to the vastness and freedom that the ship gives her, and were she to seek a husband, she would be nailed down to one spot.

When she had complained to her mother about it, her mother had snorted and said, "That is the way things  _are_ , girl.  Who are you to expect anything different?"

That was when shepromised herself that she would not marry, not unless the man would come with her to space and be her  _equal_ , not her better.

She has had dalliances, sure, and there are men on planets and ships that she can always see to satisfy her, but they know as well as she that they are not her one love.

It makes her grin, sometimes, the thought of a husband.  What would it be like?  What would a child reared in space be like?  Would they call a planet home, or would they be free to go wherever they wished?

Children are curious things.  If someone had said to her that this was to be her lot in life when she was a child growing up at the side of the Prince of the Blood, she would have laughed them out of her family's apartments.

Then again, everything changed after the death of her parents, when it was just her and her older brother - and then just her, after he died.  He was one of the Bridge guards to the palace, one of the best, but there was an uprising - a minute one - but the combatants had gotten very strong arms.

None of the men on duty that day had come home.

She cannot think about that day.

She's at the helm now, Loki at her back.  She can feel him, like a flame, there but unobtrusive, happy to exist and be welcome.  He's on the Link on one side of her, fingers tapping softly, bracelets hitting the glass every now and then.  They're orbiting above _Swallow's Peak_ , a small terrestrial planet somewhere in the backcountry that the SRO declared "buttfuck nowhere" but then added that they had a nice brewery there, which was enough to entice Sif to land there.  They have no alleigience to any side, so it is actually safe to dock here for a day (or several).

Loki's hand lands on he far shoulder and his chin on the other, looking over her shoulder and down at the planet below them.  His voice is soft and lilting, speaking the language of his people.  She doesn't know what the words mean, but they're soothing.  He switches back to the common speech for her.  "Don't fret, little bird."

She scoffs at the nickname, but lets it slide.  He started calling her that after she bought books about songbirds on the last port ship.  He says that she reminds him of birds, but she doesn't understand the comparison.  "I'm not  _worried_.  I'm apprehensive.  There's a difference."

"They are basically the same," he replies.  "Nevertheless, do not worry.  We will be safe.  I will make sure of it."

She believes him, every word, and knows that if he fails the world will pay for it.


	14. touch and mead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOVER TEXT!!
> 
> (I mean, hover over the Old Norse to read the translation!!)
> 
> (also I take full responsibility for the inaccuracy of the translation and/or the construction of the sentences, but I did as best I could.)
> 
> You should REALLY LISTEN to Lasairfhíona Ní Chonaola's version of "Bean Pháidín" ([here on youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhyWXnyykds) and [here on spotify](http://open.spotify.com/track/61uJGq6oFSRFq9rZP6TJ07)) because that is the version that was stuck in my head, but Susan McKeown's version is AS AMAZING ([spotify](http://open.spotify.com/track/4yqqUA7sp4GxxEfA8nLCHn)).
> 
>  
> 
> [here are the lyrics and translation!!](http://songsinirish.com/p/bean-phaidin-lyrics.html)

Lammert was right, Thor thinks, about  _Swallow's Peak_ ; it was nowhere, but the ale and mead were good, and the people hospitable, a good mixture of all races and political alleigences.  If he is recognized, no one says a word about it.  Loki uses his magic to weave a glamor about himself, just in case.  

Sif was nervous about him getting off-ship in his skin, but Thor had told her that soner or later he was going to tire of it.  Loki had held up a slender hand and the bickering had stopped.  "I recognize Sif's concerns, and she is correct; the time has not come for me to yet parade about without some magical assurance that I will not be recognized."

Sif had grinned at Thor, pleased with her win.  Insufferable.

Loki had run off with a few of the guards as soon as he could, leaving Thor with Sif.  They restocked on food and ale, some new bolts of cloth for Loki's robes - meaning that Thor bought as many as he could until Sif cut him off - and then bought some rumors from the town gossips.

They roam the market together, like they used to as children, buying little trinkets to show to their mothers.  This time, though, they look for things that would assist on the journey, for that is all that matters.

When Loki comes back to find them, he directs his guards back to the ship with the parcels they carry.

"What goods have you bought, Loki? Presents for us?" Thor teases.

Loki scoffs.  "Ekki var þess, Thor." He flicks his fingers and glowing lights fly from them to hover around their shoulders to guard against the darkness from the sunset.

Thor raises an eyebrow and Loki waves a hand to dispel his worries.  "Láta mér gera sem eg ek er vill.  Ekki vera hræddr."

Sif leans in close to Thor.  "Many people here dabble in magic.  Loki's gifts will go unnoticed."

Thor rolls his eyes, a moment of immaturity that make both Sif and Loki smile.  

"Come now, my darlings, we should return to the ship.  Have you gotten all the things that you need?" Loki asks, threading an arm through Thor's and taking Sif by the hand.

Sif told Thor, one long night when they were both on the bridge plotting out their course for the next few days, that she was surprised with how tactile Loki was.  He was forever touching the people to whom he spoke, especially if he was comfortable with them.  It didn't bother anyone, but it was interesting to Sif nevertheless.  Thor had shrugged and mumbled something about being ignored as a child by his parents, and Sif understood.

"Aye, I have everything I need.  Sif?  Have we gotten everything for the ship?"

"We have, yes.  Things are being delivered as we speak, but the crew has furlough until tomorrow morning.  We could get a room at The Winking Raven.  I've stayed there before," Sif adds, "and they will remember me."

Loki slows their walk, strung between them, contemplating.  "I have never stayed in an inn before."

"Truly?" Sif asks, and she grins when Loki shakes his head.  "Then we  _must_ , now, so that you can experience it."

"Will it be safe?" Thor questions lowly, head bent to Loki's ear, but meaning for Sif to hear as well.

"I will make it safe, Thor.  Ekki vera hræddr."

"We should make that your motto, Loki."

"I'm missing out on something," Sif says with a smile, opening the door to The Winking Raven.  "Sit down somewhere, I'll get us a room and some food."

Thor leads Loki to a table in the corner.  The inn is lit warmly and people are clustered around, laughing and drinking as a few men strum a mix of stringed instruments as a woman [sings a song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhyWXnyykds) that Loki does not know.

It is warm and Loki drops his hood back after placing a simple cloaking spell (Thor recognizes the runes as the same ones that adorn a box that Loki has, in which he hides his precious items).  No one pays them any mind, really, aside from a few nods and smiles to the newcomers.

Sif returns, a serving girl following after her with a tray of hearty brown bread and fresh butter, the bread still steaming from the oven.  There is mead, too, golden and sweet.  Sif drops down on the bench across from them, and the serving girl says that she will return with their meal - hare stew with winter vegetables - and Sif cuts the bread for them.

She serves Loki first, and then Thor, and it makes Thor grin and beam.  Loki gives them both a look, not understanding the custom.

Sif straightens up, unconsciously taking on the posture that they took for recitals and tale-telling at home.  "It is said that bread was the first meal created from the land, not just taken as a natural bounty.  To share bread, to break bread with your friends and family, reminds us what we have been given, and what we have lost.  To serve others reminds us to care for them, hold them close in our hearts, and to protect them, as well as let them protect us."

The stew comes then, and Sif takes the pot and bowls from the girl with a murmured thanks.  She spoons it into bowls, setting one before Thor and then the other before Loki, and finally herself.  "It is important to make sure that those you care for have the means to thrive.  That is how it has always been, and how it always will be."

Loki ducks his head, a blush spreading across his cheeks.  "Thank you," he tells her, reaching across the table to press his fingers against the back of her hand, simple affection that he has not been able to be free with until now.  "You honor me."

"You are my friend," Sif says with a smile, and they eat.

* * *

Loki mourns a little when they leave the port, if only because he likes the simpleness of life on Swallow's Peak, the kindness of the people, and their willingness to listen rather than just work towards their own goals.

The mead and the ale they produce helps, however.  Most of the crew will miss that more than anything, but Thor had made sure to have casks and casks of it loaded into the bay, just in case.  Thor hadn't said in case of  _what_ , however, so Loki thinks it's just to have some.

They depart, and Loki watches the planet grow smaller and smaller through the bay windows.  He turns and leaves the room, ascending the stairs to the command center where he knows that Sif will be bent over star charts and Lammert will be furiously browsing on his Link, looking for news or rumors about their whereabouts so as to plan the next stop, the next place to meet with allies.

"Loki, what do you know about the Náir?" Sif asks as he lights upon the desk next to her.  Her hand curls into the folds of his robe (layers and layers of voile, shades of blue and green with hints of silver edging, elegant but simple) in an unconscious gesture, something he has come to like.

Sif has become his closest friend, Thor notwithstanding, because she is honest with him, sometimes brutally so.  He would be offended were she anyone else, but Thor trusts her with his life, and thus Loki does as well.

His hand goes to hers, tangling their fingers together, and she does not pull away but comes closer, resting against his knee and writing with her left hand.  Loki was fascinated when he discovered that she could write with both hands, switching back and forth effortlessly.  Sometimes, he occupies her right hand so as to watch her work with her left.

"I do not know much, just what had been written in our histories.  That they aligned with us because of mutual dislike - fjándr fjánda minna eru vinr minn, you know - but otherwise they are a mystery to me.  Why do you ask?"

"We got a message," Sif says, and brings it up on her Link, "inviting us to a meeting at Éljúðnir on Hęl.  I don't know if we should accept."

"What did Thor say?"

"The same as you.  They were neutral in most of the conflicts, but sided with the Jötnar in the end.  They could go one way or another; but, they would be good to have on our side.  They are a strong people, and they have never gone back on their word, as far as I know."  She brings up Hęl on the star map, watching the planet rotate slowly around its sun, its two moons rotating around it.

"I feel as though it would be good to accept their invitation, but with caution, as in all things.  It can do no harm; if we accept, we are in their good graces.  If we do not, they have reason to be against us."

Sif nods.  Lammert looks up from his Link.  "Shall I plan a course to Hęl, Sif?"

"Yes.  I'll let them know we're coming."


	15. grey and white

Hęl spins below them, seemingly bereft of life; Loki knows, however, that most of the populace lives below the ground, heating their homes with the volcanic activity and using magic for natural light.

They're awaiting permission to dock, lurking in the gloom of one moon.  Even though it would be unlikely that the Náir would betray them - it would not be in their best interests - caution is better than nothing at all.

Thor stands at the windows, hands on his waist as he stares down at the planet.  It's curious to think that he's been other planets more than his own in the past months, where it was normally the opposite in the past.  It has opened his eyes to other ways of life, however, other races and cultures and values.

Sif is pacing at the console, twisting her hands together.  She worries that things will not go well and that they will have to flee and find a hiding spot somewhere in the deep cold of space.

The comm link  _chirrups_. "Kom heill ok sæll, skipa-afli."

Sif whirls to face Loki where he's deftly embroidering another sheet of fabric with needle and thread; silver thread on deep green silk this time.  "What did they say?"

"That we are welcome to port," Loki murmurs.  "The coordinates should arrive soon."

The navigation systems beeps with their arrival.  "Lammert, take us down."

* * *

A fissure opens in the ground and it's almost as though they are sucked under the surface; the pressure differential does assist, Sif tells them, but it all has to do with velocity and their angle of descent.

The port of Éljúðnir is gleaming and silver, filled with far more technology than Thor would have thought.  Then again, the splitting of the ground takes effort.  When they set down, Thor can see a line of the Náir awaiting them, crowding the docks.

"Ready, Thor?"

"Presently," he answers Sif, making sure Mjölnir is well-attached to his belt.  "Loki?"

"Yes," he answers, sparks flitting from his fingers and dancing along his robes.  He glances sideways at Thor, eyes half-lidded and calm.  "The Náir are formal people on the first meeting.  We will have to see what they say, and then revert to what they use."

"Fair enough," Thor responds.  He holds a hand out to Loki and Loki takes it.

Sif remains a step behind them, a simple matter of propriety, and Lammert will take the ship while she is off.  The airlock doors open with a hiss and they step out.  The air is warm, comfortable, and has the faint scent of sulfur as a result of the natural springs.

The Náir bear only a passing resemblance to the Jötnar in that they, too, have horns of various types, but most everything else is different.  They are varying shades of grey and white, their eyes wholly blue except for the pupil.  They are also not nearly as tall.  Their robes are scant for all of them, and they are mindless of their partial or whole nudity.  Some of them have swirling tattoos in addition to their clan lines.

A Náir crowned in gold circlet steps forward.  The fire opals at her temples shine in the light, making her gossamer white hair seem aflame.

"Welcome to Hęl and to Éljúðnir, our true High King Thor Odinson, and to you, High Queen Consort Loki Náljarson.  I am Rindr Bousmóðir, Queen of the Náir.  To you we owe our allegiance," she says, placing her hand over her heart, and she bows low.  The others join her.

Thor chances a glance at Loki as they bow, but Loki does not return it as the group straightens up.

"You honor us, Rindr Queen, but you name us above our station.  We are not a King and Queen - not yet."  Loki strides forward, taking Thor with him, and takes one of her hands in both of his.  He presses a kiss to her palm, then plucks a jeweled pin from his hair.  He reaches forward and secures it behind her ear.

She smiles at Loki, wide and honest.  "We call you what you are, what you  _shall_ be.  There are no lies in that.  We have seen it."

"Seen it?" Loki asks, taking her hands again.

She smiles and looks to Thor, and her eyes seem to deepen and grow, and Thor hears the voice of prophesy in her.

"The son leaves, or is taken, and the father plots and plans and schemes.  But the forgotten lover knows what the father does not, of another son born in shame but brought up to shine.  They will know the world, and they will save it; one with a hammer, and the other a bow."

She looks away for a moment, then back, and she has returned.

"Come.  Your trip has been long, and tiring.  We will break our fast, the four of us."

Rindr beckons to Sif and she comes forward, blushing a little, but Rindr smiles at her.  "What is your name, captain?"

"I am Sif Geimersmær, captain of  _The Mourner_ , sverð-berari to both Thor and Loki.  I am honored at your inclusion."

Rindr smiles, a sweet tilt of her lips. "You are welcome here."

She does an about face and beckons them forward to follow her, deep into the planet.

* * *

The banquet hall is like nothing that neither Thor nor Loki has ever seen; it's a huge hall, the walls rough-hewn and painted a warm orange.  There are alcoves with candles and torches, and it makes the banquet hall personal and homey; not at all austere or formal.

Rindr leads them to a table in the middle of the room, not at the head.  She notices their looks, and smiles over her shoulder.  "We feel that leaders should not be afraid to sit among their people, rather than separate themselves.  If you wish to sit outside your people, then you have something to be worried about."

 "It's good, to trust your people.  By trusting them, you see what matters to them, and you can do great things," Thor says.  He sits near Rindr at the round table, on her right.  Loki sits to his right, and Sif to his.

"That is my philosophy.  My people see me more as a mother than a ruler; they can come to me, no matter who they are, with their concerns or fears or ideas.  Why should I distance myself from them?"

Loki leans forward.  "Do you not worry about violence against you?"

Rindr laughs as the other seats fill, save for the one on her left.  "Why would they want to harm me if I do not work against them?  There would be no sense to it."

"That is very true, my lady.  And they do seem to respect you," Thor says while accepting a jug of mead from a servant and filling all their glasses.

Rindr's smile dims a little.  "It was hard won, but that is not a conversation for a meal.  Rest.  Eat.  Drink.  We will discuss it on the morrow, when the sun rises."

The food arrives and music begins, and they feast.

* * *

They inspect their rooms the next morning.  Their rooms are large and cozy, more of a house inside the planet than a single room.  It has an open floor plan, no walls to delineate the spaces, but there is a door that hides away the bathroom, and another that connects them to Sif's suite.

The crew have been given rooms too, though they are less opulent, but they are relieved to have their feet on the ground - or in the ground, as it were.

Loki lounges on the bed, robe loose around his hips and embroidery thrown over his lap as he works.  He still doesn't let Thor see what he's doing, though he allows Sif.  It rankles for a little, but he has grown used to it.  Loki still teaches him spells and magic, and he does love Loki; Loki can keep his secrets, if that is what he desires.  Thor knows it is hard to confide in someone when you have not been able to for so long.

Sif is bent over star charts and map on the large table in the center of the room, mumbling to herself about paths and galaxies and allies.  Lammert has joined her, arms full of books and notes.

Thor doesn't know what they're doing, but he's content to let them until they are tired.

Sif always works better when surrounded by people, even if they aren't helping her.  Thor has always been amused by it.

Thor loves that this is his life now: surrounded by friends, working to help all those in the galaxy.  It's important to him, that all people can be healthy and happy and live their lives as they see fit.  He doesn't want to be alone again, not like he was, and he doesn't want Loki to be alone either.

There is a knock on the door and Rindr enters; they told her that she was welcome after the morning meal, and she assured them that she would join them.

There's a young boy with her, one hand clinging to her skirts and the other to his mouth where he chews on a fingernail, worrying the skin.

"I should like to introduce you to someone dear to me, if I may," she tells them, stroking the back of the child's head.

"Of course, my lady," Thor says as he goes to one knee in front of the child, who grins at him shyly around his finger.  "What is your name, little one?"

He looks up at Rindr and she smiles and nods, so he looks back at Thor before whispering, "My name is Bous."

"Bous Rindrsson, my only issue and my heir.  Go and find Nanna, my love, so we may talk," she tells the boy, and with a kiss to her cheek and a smile at them he scampers out of the room.

"He is a dear," Thor says, offering her his arm to lead her to a seat at the table.

"He is," Rindr says, "and he is also your brother."


	16. song and silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes HEAVILY from the Vegtamskviða, which you can read in Old Norse [right here](http://heimskringla.no/wiki/Baldrs_draumar). 
> 
> There are two english translations for people that have never heard of it before; [this one](http://www.germanicmythology.com/works/elderedda/vegtamskvida.html), which is in far more accessible English, and [this one](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe13.htm) that is a bit more in line with the skald-ish sound that I ADORE (all ye olde english and that).
> 
> THAT BEING SAID, what you'll read below is _my translation_.
> 
> My translation bridges the gap in a way, because I find both of the above to not meet my needs; so I bit the bullet and did it on my own, because at least then all the errors are mine and not someone else's.
> 
> You can also listen to it [performed here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQfpkNpH8QI), which is totally worth the 9+ minutes!

Thor's arm falters but Rindr pays it no mind, seating herself at the table and crossing her legs at her knees.

"My  _brother_?"

"Half-brother," Rindr answers, taking one of his hands and pulling him down into a chair.  Sif and Lammert continue work but watch them, Sif's eyes wide. "It is not a happy tale."

"I would hear it," Thor answers, scrubbing his face with his hands.  His heart pounds in his chest an he can hear the blood rushing through his ears like a flood.  His limbs shake with adrenalin.

"I could smell your relation," Loki murmurs from the bed, needle flying through the fabric and glinting in the light.  "You smell similar, buttery and sparking."

Rindr gives Loki an appraising look.  "Þín fengitíminn er fljótt."

Loki smiles, small and soft, and keeps working at the fabric in his lap.  He doesn't answer her, but Thor pays him no mind; that is not important right now.

"Tell me," he demands, and he knows that he should not demand anything of a queen but she just smiles and takes his hands in hers; they are warm and dry, as though she holds the heat of the sun in her hands.

"There is a verse, a prophecy; I will sing it for you.  I am no skáld, however."

Sif and Lammert pause in the straightening of their maps and listen; Loki does not stop, his needle flying on and on.

_Senn váru æsir_   
_allir á þingi_   
_ok ásynjur_   
_allar á máli,_   
_ok um þat réðu_   
_ríkir tívar,_   
_hví væri Baldri_   
_ballir draumar._

_Upp reis Óðinn,_   
_alda gautr,_   
_ok hann á Sleipni_   
_söðul of lagði;_   
_reið hann niðr þaðan_   
_niflheljar til;_   
_mætti hann hvelpi,_   
_þeim er ór helju kom._

She pauses for a breath and catches sight of Lammert and Sif looking back and forth. "Do you understand?"

Sif and Lammert shake their heads, faces flushing, but Rindr smiles. "There is no shame in that. I will translate for you as I go. It is not typical, but easier perhaps than waiting until the end."

 

> Soon were there Æsir  
>  all in counsil,  
>  and the Ásynjur  
>  all in conference,  
>  and on that counseled,  
>  the mighty gods,  
>  wherefore Baldr had  
>  deadly dreams.
> 
> Up rose Odin,  
>  the enchanter old,  
>  and on Sleipnir he  
>  a saddle placed;  
>  he rode down from there  
>  to Niflhel deep;  
>  met he a hound  
>  that out of Hel came.

_Sá var blóðugr_   
_um brjóst framan_   
_ok galdrs föður_   
_gól of lengi;_   
_fram reið Óðinn,_   
_foldvegr dunði;_   
_hann kom at hávu_   
_Heljar ranni._

_Þá reið Óðinn_   
_fyrir austan dyrr,_   
_þar er hann vissi_   
_völu leiði;_   
_nam hann vittugri_   
_valgaldr kveða,_   
_unz nauðig reis,_   
_nás orð of kvað:_

 

> It was bloody  
>  on its breast,  
>  and at the father of magic  
>  long it bayed;  
>  forth rode Odin,  
>  the earth rattled;  
>  til Hel's high  
>  house he came.
> 
> Then rode Odin  
>  to the eastern door,  
>  where he knew  
>  a wise woman laid;  
>  skilled magic  
>  and charms he quoth,  
>  until unwilling she rose  
>  and from death quoth:

Her voice is clear and piercing, almost soothing were it not for the subject matter.  She takes a breath after each verse, back straight and eyes nearly shut.

_"Hvat er manna þat_   
_mér ókunnra,_   
_er mér hefir aukit_   
_erfitt sinni?_   
_Var ek snivin snævi_   
_ok slegin regni_   
_ok drifin döggu,_   
_dauð var ek lengi."_

_Óðinn kvað:_   
_"Vegtamr ek heiti,_   
_sonr em ek Valtams;_   
_segðu mér ór helju,_   
_ek mun ór heimi:_   
_Hveim eru bekkir_   
_baugum sánir,_   
_flet fagrlig_   
_flóuð gulli?"_

 

> "Who is this man,  
>  this stranger,  
>  whom for me hast increased  
>  a toilsome walk?  
>  I have been snowed-on,  
>  and beaten with rain,  
>  and drenched with dew,  
>  I was dead for long."
> 
> Odin quoth:  
>  "Vegtamr is my name,  
>  son of Valtam,  
>  tell thou me of Hel,  
>  the upper worlds I know;  
>  to whom the benches  
>  are strewn with rushes,  
>  and rooms  
>  gilt with gold?"

_Völva kvað:_   
_"Hér stendr Baldri_   
_of brugginn mjöðr,_   
_skírar veigar,_   
_liggr skjöldr yfir,_   
_en ásmegir_   
_í ofvæni;_   
_nauðug sagðak,_   
_nú mun ek þegja."_

_Óðinn kvað:_   
_"Þegj-at-tu, völva,_   
_þik vil ek fregna,_   
_unz alkunna,_   
_vil ek enn vita:_   
_Hverr mun Baldri_   
_at bana verða_   
_ok Óðins son_   
_aldri ræna?"_

 

> The wise woman quoth:  
>  "Here stands Baldr,  
>  for him mead is brewed,  
>  a shining drink,  
>  over it lies a shield,  
>  but the Æsir  
>  are in despair;  
>  but from need I spoke,  
>  now I will be silent."
> 
> Odin quoth:  
>  "Cease thee not, wise woman!  
>  I wish thee tidings  
>  until I well know,  
>  I will yet know  
>  Who will Baldr's  
>  murderer become,  
>  and Odin's son  
>  of life plunder?"

It is almost as though they are no longer present, and she sings for herself, sings to remember or remind or forget.  She does not trip over the words, but lets them slip from her tongue, steady and sure.

_Völva kvað:_   
_"Höðr berr hávan_   
_hróðrbaðm þinig,_   
_hann mun Baldri_   
_at bana verða_   
_ok Óðins son_   
_aldri ræna;_   
_nauðug sagðak,_   
_nú mun ek þegja."_

_Óðinn kvað:_   
_"Þegj-at-tu, völva,_   
_þik vil ek fregna,_   
_unz alkunna,_   
_vil ek enn vita:_   
_Hverr mun heift Heði_   
_hefnt of vinna_   
_eða Baldrs bana_   
_á bál vega?"_

 

> The wise woman quoth,  
>  "Höðr will bear  
>  the fatal twig,  
>  he will Baldr's  
>  murderer become,  
>  and Odin's son  
>  of life plunder;  
>  but from need I spoke,  
>  now I will be silent."
> 
> Odin quoth:  
>  "Cease thee not, wise woman!  
>  I wish thee tidings  
>  until I well know,  
>  I will yet know  
>  Who will on Höðr wage war  
>  and vengeance win  
>  or Baldr's murderer  
>  to the pyre carry?"

_Völva kvað:_   
_"Rindr berr Vála_   
_í vestrsölum,_   
_sá mun Óðins sonr_   
_einnættr vega:_   
_hönd of þvær_   
_né höfuð kembir,_   
_áðr á bál of berr_   
_Baldrs andskota;_   
_nauðug sagðak,_   
_nú mun ek þegja."_

_Óðinn kvað:_   
_"Þegj-at-tu, völva,_   
_þik vil ek fregna,_   
_unz alkunna,_   
_vil ek enn vita:_   
_Hverjar ro þær meyjar,_   
_er at muni gráta_   
_ok á himin verpa_   
_halsa skautum?"_

 

> The wise woman quoth:  
>  "Rindr will bear Vali  
>  in the western halls,  
>  the son of Odin, he will  
>  fight one night;  
>  hands unwashed,  
>  his head not combed,  
>  ere to the pyre borne he  
>  Baldr's adversary;  
>  but from need I spoke,  
>  now I will be silent."
> 
> Odin quoth:  
>  "Cease thee not, wise woman!  
>  I wish thee tidings  
>  until I well know,  
>  I will yet know  
>  what kind of maidens  
>  who shall then weep  
>  and to the sky  
>  throw sails?"

_Völva kvað:_   
_"Ert-at-tu Vegtamr,_   
_sem ek hugða,_   
_heldr ertu Óðinn,_   
_aldinn gautr."_

_Óðinn kvað:_   
_"Ert-at-tu völva_   
_né vís kona,_   
_heldr ertu þriggja_   
_þursa móðir."_

_Völva kvað:_   
_"Heim ríð þú, Óðinn,_   
_ok ver hróðigr,_   
_svá komir manna_   
_meir aftr á vit,_   
_er lauss Loki_   
_líðr ór böndum_   
_ok ragna rök_   
_rjúfendr koma."_

 

> The wise woman quoth,  
>  "Thou art not Vegtamr,  
>  as I judged,  
>  rather you are Odin,  
>  the enchanter old."
> 
> Odin quoth:  
>  "Thou art not a wise woman,  
>  no wisdom you have;  
>  rather you are three  
>  giant's mother."
> 
> The wise woman quoth:  
>  "Home ride you, Odin,  
>  and be ever proud;  
>  so no one man  
>  shall return any more to me,  
>  until Loki is loose,  
>  slipping from his bonds  
>  and world's end  
>  all-destroying comes."

Silence greets her last words, and she stands to stoke the fire.  She returns to the chair as Thor passes a hand over his eyes.

"There are many ways to decipher the prophecies of our Völva from the past.  We have seen it thusly: I have begotten a son by your father, though his name is not the same.  The Níðhǫggr will bring about the death of the world, if they are allowed to do so.  Another son of Odin shall die if they return.  Loki has broken the bonds placed upon him by his father, and thus we can tell you of this."

"I will  _not_ allow my brother to be slain!" Thor barks, shoving away from the table to pace the open space in front of the fire.

"Ekki vera í reiðum hug, minn ást-kærr," Loki murmurs from the bed, and the sound alone calms him, though the anger still boils in his gut.

Rindr watches him pace for a moment before she stands and places a hand on his shoulder as he passes, and he turns to her.  Her face is drawn and the sorrow there stops his movement.  She stoops the few inches she has on him to press a kiss to his brow, as though she were his mother, and his anger settles in his core, still burning, but no longer out of control.

"Just because it is foretold does not mean that it  _will be_ , son of the stars.  There is still yet time to change what it is that the wise women have sung - for you, and for your brothers."

"How?" Thor asks, soft.

Rindr smiles and guides him to sit back down, smoothing his hair where it is escaped from the band.  "That is for us to determine," she answers, "for us to  _build_.  It is true that some things cannot be changed, but above all, we make our own lives.  There is no need for the sons of Odin to fight each other."

Thor nods, pressing his face into her palm for a moment.  He misses his mother terribly in that split second, misses how she would comfort him.  Rindr steps close and holds him, fingers passing back and forth over his shoulders.  "I won't allow Baldr to be a part of this war; I won't let another brother slay him, and I shall not allow Höðr to be slain."

"Then that is the path we will follow," Loki says, voice closer than it was before, and Thor can feel his presence at his shoulder.  "As our lady has said, we will make a new prophecy."

"And Höðr? He was lost to us before I was a man," Thor says, leaning into Loki.  He cannot even muster the strength to be embarrassed by his reliance on Loki at the moment, the scent of his skin, the touch of his flesh.

"We will find him," Rindr tells him, turning his face up to lock eyes with him, "and we will keep Baldr safe, and my son."

"I can start the search," Sif says, the first time she has spoken since Rindr came to join them, "I've got contacts all over the place.  Someone has to know something about where he went."

"Good, Sif.  Start with Ásgarðr and go from there," Loki says while stroking his fingers over Thor's skull, "as that's where he last was, and Baldr will be able to access the archives there."

"Don't tell him why we're looking."

"Thor?"

" _Don't_ tell him, Sif.  Give a false reason, but do not alarm him.  Is that understood?"

"Yes, my prince," she says, and she and Lammert gather the maps before bowing out of the room and back to the ship to access the computers there; the Link is secure there.

The room is silent for a long moment after their departure, Rindr rubbing a thumb over the pulse in Thor's neck, Loki stroking the hair from his face.  

"I will leave you," she murmurs after a time, bending to press another kiss to his cheek before she departs.

They are left alone, Thor pressed into Loki as though the simple touch will take away the roiling emotions that were not there a scant hour before.  He feels as though his skin is too tight over his bones, as though he has been taken apart and rebuilt in the worst of ways.

"Minn sváss," Loki whispers, the words sweet, "we will find a way.  We will keep them safe.  We will not let them come to harm - Baldr, Höðr, Bous; we will not let them perish."


End file.
